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•UNIVERS//,          svlOS-MGElfj> 

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^EUNIVERS/A. 

I   i^—f^ 

i     I 


AND    OTHER    POEMS. 


MAUD, 


OTHER    POEMS. 


BY 

ALFRED  TENNYSON,  D.  C.  L. 

POET    LAUREATE. 


BOSTON: 
TICKNOR    AND     FIELDS. 

M  DC  CC  L  V. 


SUr.otyped  by 
HOBART  4  ROBEI.NS, 

New  England  TV]*  and  Sttreotjpe 


Al 


CONTENTS 


MAUD 7 

THE  BROOK:    AN   IDYL 107 

THE  LETTERS 121 

ODE  OX  THE  DEATH  OF  THE  DUKE  OF  WELLINGTON     .  127 

THE  DAISY 143 

TO  THE  REV.  F.   D.  MAURICE, 151 

WILL 155 

THE  CHARGE  OF  THE  LIGHT  BRIGADE          ....  157 


•  .*f*J 


M  ^U  D. 


I. 
i. 

I  HATE  the  dreadful  hollow  behind  the  little 
wood, 

Its  lips  in  the  field  above  are  dabbled  with  blood- 
red  heath, 

The  red-ribb'd  ledges  drip  with  a  silent  horror  of 
blood, 

And  Echo  there,  whatever  is  ask'd  her,  answers 
'  Death.' 


8 


2. 
For  there  in  the  ghastly  pit  long  since  a  body  was 

found, 
His  who  had  given  me  life — O  father!    O  God! 

was  it  well  ?  — 
Mangled,  and  flatten'd,  and  crush'd,  and  dinted  into 

the  ground : 
There  yet  lies  the  rock  that  fell  with  him  when  he 

fell. 


Did  he  fling  himself  down  ?  who  knows  ?  for  a  great 

speculation  had  fail'd, 
And   ever  he   mutter'd   and    madden'd,   and    ever 

wann'd  with  despair, 
And  out  he  walk'd  when  the  wind  like  a  broken 

worldling  wail'd, 
And  the  flying  gold  of  the  ruin'd  woodlands  drove 

thro'  the  air. 


4. 

I  remember  the  time,  for  the  roots  of  my  hair  were 

stirr'd 
By  a  shuffled  step,  by  a  dead  weight  trail'd,  by  a 

whisper'd  fright, 
And  my  pulses  closed  their  gates  with  a  shock  on 

my  heart  as  I  heard 
The   shrill-edged   shriek  of   a   mother  divide    the 

shuddering  night. 

6. 

Villany   somewhere !    whose  ?     One   says,   we   are 

villains  all. 
Not  he  :  his  honest  fame  should  at  least  by  me  be 

maintain'd : 
But  that  old  man,  now  lord  of  the  broad  estate  and 

the  Hall, 
Dropt  off  gorged  from  a  scheme  that  had  left  us 

flaccid  and  drain'd. 


10 


Why  do  they  prate  of  the  blessings  of  Peace  ?  we 

have  made  them  a  curse, 
Pickpockets,  each  hand  lusting  for  all  that  is  not  its 

own; 
And  lust  of  gain,  in  the  spirit  of  Cain,  is  it  better  or 

worse 
Than  the  heart  of  the  citizen  hissing  in  war  on  his 

own  hearthstone  ? 

7. 
But  these  are  the  days  of  advance,  the  works  of  the 

men  of  mind, 
When  who    but   a  fool  would    have    faith  in  a 

tradesman's  ware  or  his  word  ? 
Is  it  peace  or  war  ?     Civil  war,  as  I  think,  and  that 

of  a  kind 
The   viler,  as   underhand,  not  openly  bearing  the 

sword. 


MAUD.  11 

8. 

Sooner  or  later    I    too    may  passively   take    the 

print 
Of  the  golden  age  —  why  not  ?    I  have  neither  hope 

nor  trust  ; 
May  make  my  heart  as  a  millstone,  set  my  face  as 

a  flint, 
Cheat  and  be  cheated,  and  die :  who  knows  ?  we  are 

ashes  and  dust. 


Peace  sitting  under  her  olive,  and  slurring  the  days 

gone  by, 
When  the  poor  are  hovell'd  and  hustled  together, 

each  sex,  like  swine, 
When  only  the  ledger  lives,  and  when  only  not  all 

men  lie ; 
Peace  in  her  vineyard  —  yes  !  —  but    a    company 

forges  the  wine. 


12 


10. 
And  the  vitriol  madness  flushes  up  in  the  ruffian's 

head, 
Till   the   filthy   by-lane   rings   to   the   yell   of  the 

trampled  wife, 
While   chalk  and  alum  and  plaster   are   sold    to 

the  poor   for  bread, 
And  the  spirit  of  murder  works  in  the  very  means 

of  life. 

11. 
And  Sleep  must  lie  down  arm'd,  for  the  villanous 

centre-bits 
Grind  on  the  wakeful  ear  in  the  hush  of  the  moonless 

nights, 
While  another  is  cheating  the  sick  of  a  few  last 

gasps,  as  he  sits 
To  pestle   a   poison'd  poison   behind   his    crimson 

lights. 


13 


12. 
When  a  Mammonite  mother  kills  her  babe  for  a 

burial  fee, 
And  Timour-Mammon  grins  on  a  pile  of  children's 

bones, 
Is  it  peace  or  war  ?  better,  war !  loud  war  by  land 

and  by  sea, 
War  with  a  thousand  battles,  and  shaking  a  hundred 

thrones. 

13. 

For  I  trust  if  an  enemy's  fleet  came  yonder  round 
by  the  hill, 

And  the  rushing  battle-bolt  sang  from  the  three- 
decker  out  of  the  foam, 

That  the  smooth-faced  snub-nosed  rogue  would  leap 
from  his  counter  and  till, 

And  strike,  if  he  could,  were  it  but  with  his  cheating 
yard-wand,  home. 


14 


14. 
There    are   workmen    up  at  the   Hall:    they  are 

coining  back  from  abroad, 
The  dark  old  place  will  be  gilt  by  the  touch  of  a 

millionnaire : 
I  have  heard,  I  know  not  whence,  of  the  singular 

beauty  of  Maud, 
I  play'd  with  the  girl  when  a  child ;  she  promised 

then  to  be  fair. 

15. 
Maud  with  her  venturous  climbings  and   tumbles 

and  childish  escapes, 
Maud  the  delight  of  the  village,  the  ringing  joy  of 

the  Hall, 
Maud  with  her  sweet  purse-mouth  when  my  father 

dangled  the  grapes, 
Maud  the  beloved  of  my  mother,  the  moon-faced 

darling  of  all, — 


15 


16. 
What  is  she  now  ?     My  dreams  are  bad.     She  may 

bring  me  a  curse. 
No,  there  is  fatter  game  on  the  moor ;  she  will  let 

me  alone. 
Thanks,  for  the   fiend  best  knows  whether  woman 

or  man  be  the  worse. 
I  will  bury  myself  in  my  books,  and  the  Devil  may 

pipe  to  his  own. 


16 


II. 

LONG  have  1  sigh'd  for  a  calm :  God  grant  I  may 

find  it  at  last ! 
It  will  never  be  broken  by  Maud,  she  has  neither 

savor  nor  salt, 
But  a  cold  and  clear-cut  face,  as  I  found  when  her 

carriage  past, 
Perfectly  beautiful :  let  it  be  granted  her :  where  is 

the  fault? 
All  that  I  saw  (for  her  eyes  were  downcast,  not  to 

be  seen) 

Faultily  faultless,  icily  regular,  splendidly  null, 
Dead  perfection,  no  more;  nothing  more,  if  it  had 

not  been 


MAUD.  17 

For  a  chance  of  travel,  a  paleness,  an  hour's  defect 

of  the  ros^, 
Or  an   underlip,  you  may  call  it  a  little  too  ripe, 

too  full, 
Or   the   least  little   delicate    aquiline   curve   in  a 

sensitive  nose, 
From  which  I   escaped  heart-free,  with  the   least 

little  touch  of  spleen. 
2 


18 


m. 

COLD  and  clear-cut  face,  why  come  you  so  cruelly 

meek, 
Breaking  a  slumber  in  which  all  spleenful  folly  was 

drown'd, 
Pale  with  the  golden  beam  of  an  eyelash  dead  on 

the  cheek, 
Passionless,  pale,  cold  face,  star-sweet  on  a  gloom 

profound ; 
Womanlike,  taking  revenge  too  deep  for  a  transient 

wrong 
Done  but  in  thought  to  your  beauty,  and  ever  as 

pale  as  before 
Growing  and  fading  and  growing  upon  me  without 

a  sound, 


MAUD.  19 

Luminous,  gemlike,   ghostlike,    deathlike,  half  the 

night  long 
Growing  and  fading  and  growing,  till  I  could  bear 

it  no  more, 
But  arose,  and  all  by  myself  in  my  own  dark  garden 

ground, 
Listening  now  to  the  tide  in  its  broad-flung  ship-     Jp 

wrecking  roar, 

A  rt 

Now  to  the  scream  of  a  madden'd  beach  dragg'd     . 

down  by  the  wave, 
Walk'd  in  a  wintry  wind  by  a  ghastly  glimmer,  and 

found 
The  shining  daffodil   dead,  and   Orion  low    in  his 

grave. 


20 


IV. 


L 

A  MILLION   emeralds   break  from   the   ruby-budded 

lime 
Jn    the    little   grove   where   I   sit  —  ah,   wherefore 

cannot  1  be 
Like  things  of  the  season  gay,  like  the  bountiful 

season  bland, 
When  the  far-off  sail  is  blown  by  the  breeze  of  a 

softer  clime, 
Half-lost  in  the  liquid  azure  bloom  of  a   crescent 

of  sea, 
The  silent  sapphire-spangled  marriage  ring  of  the 

,and? 


MAUD.  21 

2. 
Below  me,  there,  is  the  village,  and  looks  how  quiet 

and  small ! 
And  yet  bubbles  o'er  like  a  city,  with  gossip,  scandal, 

and  spite; 
And  Jack  on  his  ale-house  bench  has  as  many  lies 

as  a  Czar  ; 
And   here   on   the    landward   side,  by  a  red   rock, 

glimmers  the  Hall ; 
And  up  in  the  high  Hall-gaiden  I  see  her  pass  like 

a  light ; 
But  sorrow  seize  me  if  ever  that  light  be  my  leading 

star  ! 

3. 
When  have  I  bow'd  to  her  father,  the  wrinkled  head 

of  the  race  ? 
I  met  her  abroad  with  her  brother,  but  not  to  her 

brother  I  bow'd  ; 


22  MAUD. 

I  bow'd  to  his  lady-sister  as  she  rode  by  on  the 

moor; 
But  the   fire  of  a   foolish  pride   flash'd    over   her 

beautiful  face. 
0  child,  you  wrong  your  beauty,  believe  it,  in  being 

so  proud ; 
Your    father    has   wealth    well-gotten,   and    I   am 

nameless  and  poor. 


4. 

I  keep  but  a  man  and  a  maid,  ever  ready  to  slander 

and  steal ; 
I  know  it,  and  smile  a  hard-set  smile,  like  a  stoic,  or 

like 
A   wiser   epicurean,   and   let   the   world    have   its 

way  : 
For  nature  is  one  with  rapine,  a  harm  no  preacher 

can  heal ; 


23 


The   Mayfly  is  torn   by  the  swallow,  the  sparrow 


spear'd  by  the  shrike, 

And  the  whole  little  wood  where  I  sit  is  a  world  of    jr  A/r 
plunder  and  prey. 


7 


We  are  puppets,  Man  in  his  pride,  and  Beauty  fair 

in  her  flower ; 
Do  we  move  ourselves,  or  are  moved  by  an  unseen 

hand  at  a  game 
That  pushes  us  off  from  the  board,  and  others  ever 

succeed  ? 
Ah  yet,  we  cannot  be  kind  to  each  other  here  for  an 

hour; 
We  whisper,  and  hint,  and  chuckle,  and  grin  at  a 

brother's  shame ; 
However   we   brave   it   out,  we   men   are   a   little 

breed. 


24 


A  monstrous  eft  was  of  old  the  Lord  and  Master  of 

Earth, 
For  him   did   his   high  sun   flame,  and   his   river 

billowing  ran, 
And  he   felt  himself  in   his   force  to  be  Nature's 

crowning  race. 
As  nine  months  go  to  the  shaping  an  infant  ripe  for 

•  his  birth, 
So  many  a  million  of  ages  have  gone  to  the  making 

of  man  : 
He  now  is  first,  but  is  he  the  last  ?  is  he  not  too 

base? 

7. 

The  man  of  science  himself  is  fonder  of  glory,  and 

vain, 
An  eye  well-practised  in  nature,  a  spirit  bounded 

and  poor  ; 


MAUD.  25 

The  passionate  heart  of  the  poet  is  whirl'd  into  folly 

and  vice. 
I  would  not  marvel  at  either,  but  keep  a  temperate 

brain ; 
For  not  to  desire  or  admire,  if  a  man  could  learn  it, 

were  more 
Than  to  walk  all  day  like  the  sultan  of  old  in  a 

garden  of  spice. 


8. 

For  the  drift  of  the  Maker  is  dark,  an  Isis  hid  by 

the  veil. 
Who  knows  the  ways  of  the  world,  how  God  will 

bring  them  about  ? 
Our  planet  is  one,  the  suns  are  many,  the  world  is 

wide. 
Shall  I  weep  if  a  Poland  fall  ?  shall  I  shriek  if  a 

Hungary  fail  ? 


26  MAUD. 

Or  an  infant  civilization  be  ruled  with  rod  or  with 

knout? 
I  have  not  made  the  world,  and  He  that  made  it 

will  guide. 


9. 
Be  mine  a  philosopher's  life   in  the  quiet  woodland 

ways, 
Where  if  I  cannot  be  gay  let  a  passionless  peace  be 

my  lot, 
Far  off  from  the  clamor  of  liars  belied  in  the  hubbub 

of  lies ; 
From  the  long-neck'd  geese  of  the  world  that  are 

ever  hissing  dispraise 
Because  their  natures  are  little,  and,  whether   he 

heed  it  or  not, 
Where  each  man  walks  with  his  head  in  a  cloud  of 

poisonous  flies. 


27 


10. 

And  most  of  all  would  I  flee  from  the  cruel  madness 

of  love, 
The  honey  of  poison-flowers  and  all  the  measureless 

ill. 
Ah  Maud,  you  rnilk-wjhite  fawn,  you  are  all  unmeet 

for  a  wife. 
Your  mother  is  mute  in  her  grave  as  her  image  in 

marble  above ; 
Your  father  is  ever  in  London,  you  wander  about  at 

your  will ; 
You  have  but  fed  on  the  r^ses,  and  lain  in  the  lilie,3 

of  life. 


28 


V. 


1. 

A  VOICE  by  the  cedar  tree, 
In  the  meadow  under  the  Hall ! 
She  is  singing  an  air  that  is  known  to  me, 
A  passionate  ballad  gallant  and  gay, 
A  martial  song  like  a  trumpet's  call ! 
Singing  alone  in  the  morning  of  life, 
In  the  happy  morning  of  life  and  of  May, 
P  Singing  of  men  that  in  battle  array, 
yReady  in  heart  and  ready  in  hand, 
\  March  with  banner  and  bugle  and  fife 
I  To  the  death,  for  their  native  land. 

2. 

Maud  with  her  exquisite  face, 
And  wild  voice  pealing  up  to  the  sunny  sky, 


MAUD.  29 

And  feet  like  sunny  gems  on  an  English  green, 
Maud  in  the  light  of  her  youth  and  her  grace, 
Singing  of  Death,  and  of  Honor  that  cannot  die, 
Till  I  well  could  weep  for  a  time  so  sordid  and  mean, 
And  myself  so  languid  and  base. 

t 

Silence,  beautiful  voice ! 

Be  still,  for  you  only  trouble  the  mind 

With  a  joy  in  which  I  cannot  rejoice, 

A  glory  I  shall  not  find. 

Still !  I  will  hear  you  no  more, 

For  your  sweetness  hardly  leaves  me  a  choice 

But  to  move  to  the  meadow  and  fall  before 

Her  feet  on  the  meadow  grass,  and  adore, 

Not  her,  who  is  neither  courtly  nor  kind, 

Not  her,  not  her,  but  a  voice. 


VI. 


1. 

MORNING  arises  stormy  and  pale, 
No  sun,  but  a  wannish  glare 
In  fold  upon  fold  of  hueless  cloud, 
And  the  budded  peaks  of  the  wood  are  bow'd 
Caught  and  cuff 'd  by  the  gale  : 
I  had  fancied  it  would  be  fair. 

2. 

Whom  but  Maud  should  I  meet 
Last  night,  when  the  sunset  burn'd 
On  the  blossom'd  gable-ends 
At  the  head  of  the  village  street, 


MAUD.  31 

Whom  but  Maud  should  I  meet  ? 

\ 
And  she  touch'd  my  hand  with  a  smile  so  sweet 

She  made  me  divine  amends 
For  a  courtesy  not  return'd. 

3. 

And  thus  a  delicate  spark 
Of  glowing  and  growing  light 
Thro'  the  livelong  hours  of  the  dark 
Kept  itself  warm  in  the  heart  of  my  dreams, 
Ready  to  burst  in  a  color'd  flame  ; 
Till  at  last  when  the  morning  came 
In  a  cloud,  it  faded,  and  seems 
But  an  ashen-gray  delight. 

4. 

What  if  with  her  sunny  hair, 
And  smile  as  sunny  as  cold, 
She  meant  to  weave  me  a  snare 
Of  some  coquettish  deceit, 


32 


Cleopatra-like  as  of  old 

To  entangle  me  when  we  met, 

To  have  her  lion  roll  in  a  silken  net 

And  fawn  at  a  victor's  feet. 


Ah,  what  shall  I  be  at  fifty 

Should  Nature  keep  me  alive, 

If  I  find  the  world  so  bitter 

When  I  am  but  twenty-five  ? 

Yet,  if  she  were  not  a  cheat, 

If  Maud  were  all  that  she  seem'd, 

And  her  smile  were  all  that  I  dream'd, 

Then  the  world  were  not  so  bitter 

But  a  smile  could  make  it  sweet. 

6. 

What  if  tho'  her  eye  seem'd  full 
Of  a  kind  intent  to  me, 
What  if  that  dandy-despot,  he, 


That  jewell'd  mass  of  millinery, 
That  oil'd  and  curl'd  Assyrian  Bull 
Smelling  of  musk  and  of  insolence,     : 
Her 'brother,  from  whom  I  keep  aloof, 
Who  wants  the  finer  politic  sense 
To  mask,  tho'  but  in  his  own  behoof, 
With  a  glassy  smile  his  brutal  scorn  — 
What  if  he  had  told  her  yester-morn 
How  prettily  for  his  own  sweet  sake 
A  face  of  tenderness  might  be  feign 'd, 
And  a  moist  mirage  in  desert  eyes, 
That  so,  when  the  rotten  hustings  shake 
In  another  month  to  his  brazen  lies, 
A  wretched  vote  may  be  gain'd. 

7. 

For  a  raven  ever  croaks,  at  my  side, 
Keep  watch  and  ward,  keep  watch  and  ward, 
Or  thou  wilt  prove  their  tool. 
Yea  too,  myself  from  myself  I  guard, 


For  often  a  man's  own  angry  pride 
Is  cap  and  bells  for  a  fool. 


Perhaps  the  smile  and  tender  tone 

Came  out  of  her  pitying  womanhood, 

For  am  I  not,  am  I  not,  here  alone 

So  many  a  summer  since  she  died, 

My  mother,  who  was  so  gentle  and  good  ? 

Living  alone  in  an  empty  house, 

Here  half-hid  in  the  gleaming  wood, 

Where  I  hear  the  dead  at  midday  moan, 

And  the  shrieking  rush  of  the  wainscot  mouse, 

And  my  own  sad  name  in  corners  cried, 

When  the  shiver  of  dancing  leaves  is  thrown 

About  its  echoing  chambers  wide, 

Till  a  morbid  hate  and  horror  have  grown 

Of  a  world  in  whicti  I  have  hardly  mixt, 

And  a  morbid  eating  lichen  fixt 

On  a  heart  half-turn'd  to  stone. 


9. 

0  heart  of  stone,  are  you  flesh,  and  caught 
By  that  you  swore  to  withstand  ? 

For  what  was  it  else  within  me  wrought 
But,  I  fear,  the  new  strong  wine  of  love, 
That  made  my  tongue  so  stammer  and  trip 
When  I  saw  the  treasured  splendor,  her  hand, 
Come  sliding  out  of  her  sacred  glove, 
And  the  sunlight  broke  from  her  lip  ? 

10. 

1  have  play'd  with  her  when  a  child  ; 
She  remembers  it  now  we  meet. 

Ah  well,  well,  well,  I  may  be  beguiled 

By  some  coquettish  deceit. 

Yet,  if  she  were  not  a  cheat, 

If  Maud  were  all  that  she  seem'd, 

And  her  smile  had  all  that  I  dream'd, 

Then  the  world  were  not  so  bitter 

But  a  smile  could  make  it  sweet. 


36 


vn. 

i. 

DID  I  hear  it  half  in  a  doze 
Long  since,  I  know  not  where  ? 

Did  I  dream  it  an  hour  ago, 
When  asleep  in  this  arm-chair  ? 

2. 
Men  were  drinking  together, 

Drinking  and  talking  of  me ; 
Well,  if  it  prove  a  girl,  the  boy 
Will  have  plenty :  so  let  it  be.' 

3. 
Is  it  an  echo  of  something 

Read  with  a  boy's  delight, 
Viziers  nodding  together 

In  some  Arabian  night  I 


37 


4. 
Strange,  that  I  hear  two  men, 

Somewhere,  talking  of  me  ; 
'  Well,  if  it  prove  a  girl,  my  boy 

Will  have  plenty :  so  let  it  be.' 


228677 


VIII. 

SHE  came  to  the  village  church, 

And  sat  by  a  pillar  alone  ; 

An  angel  watching  an  urn 

Wept  over  her,  carved  in  stone ; 

And  once,  but  once,  she  lifted  her  eyes, 

And  suddenly,  sweetly,  strangely  blush'd 

To  find  they  were  met  by  my  own ; 

And  suddenly,  sweetly,  my  heart  beat  stronger 

And  thicker,  until  I  heard  no  longer 

The  snowy-banded,  dilettante, 

Delicate-handed  priest  intone  ; 

And  thought,  is  it  pride,  and  mused  and  sigh'd 

'  No  surely,  now  it  cannot  be  pride.' 


MAUD.  39 


IX. 

I  WAS  walking  a  mile, 
More  than  a  mile  from  the  shore, 
The  sun  look'd  out  with  a  smile, 
Betwixt  the  cloud  and  the  moor, 
And  riding  at  set  of  day 
Over  the  dark  moor  land, 
Rapidly  riding  far  away, 
She  waved  to  me  with  her  hand. 
There  were  two  at  her  side, 
Something  flash'd  in  the  sun, 
Down  by  the  hill  I  saw  them  ride, 
In  a  moment  they  were  gone : 


40 


Like  a  sudden  spark 
Struck  vainly  in  the  night, 
And  back  returns  the  dark 
With  no  more  hope  of  light. 


-li 


1. 

SICK,  am  1  sick  of  a  jealous  dread  ? 
Was  not  one  of  the  two  at  her  side 
This  new-made  lord,  whose  splendor  plucks 
The  slavish  hat  from  the  villager's  head  ? 
Whose  old  grandfather  has  lately  died, 
Gone  to  a  blacker  pit,  for  whom 
Grimy  nakedness  dragging  his  trucks 
And  laying  his  trams  in  a  poison'd  gloom 
Wrought,  till  he  crept  from  a  gutted  mine 
Master  of  half  a  servile  shire, 
And  left  his  coal  all  turn'd  into  gold 
To  a  grandson,  first  of  his  noble  line, 


Rich  in  the  grace  all  women  desire, 
Strong  in  the  power  that  all  men  adore, 
And  simper  and  set  their  voices  lower, 
And  soften  as  if  to  a  girl,  and  hold 
Awe-stricken  breaths  at  a  work  divine, 
Seeing  his  gewgaw  castle  shine, 
New  as  his  title,  built  last  year, 
There  amid  perky  larches  and  pine, 
Arid  over  the  sullen-purple  moor 
(Look  at  it)  pricking  a  cockney  ear. 

2. 

What,  has  he  found  my  jewel  out  ? 
For  one  of  the  two  tnat  rode  at  her  side 
Bound  for  the  Hall,  I  am  sure  was  he  : 
Bound  for  the  Hall,  and  I  think  for  a  bride. 
Blithe  would  her  brother's  acceptance  be. 
Maud  could  be  gracious  too,  no  doubt, 
To  a  lord,  a  captain,  a  padded  shape, 


41 


A  bought  commission,  a  waxen  face, 
A  rabbit  mouth  that  is  ever  agape  — 
Bought  ?  what  is  it  he  cannot  buy  ? 
And  therefore  splenetic,  persona],  base, 
Sick,  sick  to  the  heart  of  life,  am  I. 


3. 

Last  week  came  one  to  the  county  town, 
To  preach  our  poor  little  army  down, 
And  play  the  game  of  the  despot  kings, 
Tho'  the  state  has  done  it  and  thrice  as  well : 
This  broad-brimrn'd.  hawker  of  holy  things, 
Whose  ear  is  stuft  with  his  cotton,  and  rings 
Even  in  dreams  to  the  chink  of  his  pence, 
This  huckster  put  down  war !  can  he  tell 
Whether  \vnr  be  a  cause  or  a  consequence  ? 
Put  down  the  passions  that  make  earth  Hell ! 
Down  with  ambition,  avarice,  pride, 
Jealousy,  down !  cut  oft'  from  the  mind 


44 


The  bitter  springs  of  anger  and  fear ; 
Down  too,  down  at  your  own  fireside, 
With  the  evil  tongue  and  the  evil  ear, 
For  each  is  at  war  with  mankind. 


4. 

Ah  God,  for  a  man  with  heart,  head,  hand, 
Like  some  of  the  simple  great  ones  gone 
For  ever  and  ever  by, 
One  still  strong  man  in  a  blatant  land, 
Whatever  they  call  him,  what  care  I, 
Aristocrat,  democrat,  autocrat  —  one 
Who  can  rule  and  dare  not  lie. 


MAUD.  45 


XL 

1. 

0  LET  the  solid  ground 
Not  fail  beneath  my  feet 

Before  my  life  has  found 

What  some  have  found  so  sweet : 
Then  let  come  what  come  may, 
What  matter  if  I  go  mad, 

1  shall  have  had  my  day. 


2. 

Let  the  sweet  heavens  endure, 
Not  close  and  darken  above  me 


46  MAUD. 

Before  I  am  quite  quite  sure 

That  there  is  one  to  love  me  ; 
Then  let  come  what  come  may 
To  a  life  that  has  been  so  sad, 
I  shall  have  had  mv  day. 


MAUD. 


XII. 

L 

BIRDS  in  the  high  Hall-garden 

When  twilight  was  falling, 
Maud,  Maud,  Maud,  Maud, 

They  were  crying  and  calling 

2. 
Where  was  Maud  ?  in  our  wood ; 

And  I,  who  else,  was  with  her, 
Gathering  woodland  lilies, 

Myriads  blow  together. 

3. 
Birds  in  our  wood  sang 

Ringing  thro'  the  valleys, 
Maud  is  here,  here,  here 

In  amon<r  the  lilies. 


43  MAUD. 

4. 

I  kiss'd  her  slender  hand, 

She  took  the  kiss  sedately ; 

Maud  is  not  seventeen, 

But  she  is  tall  and  stately. 
5. 

I  to  cry  out  on  pride 

"Who  have  won  her  favor ! 

0  Maud  were  sure  of  Heaven 

If  lowliness  could  save  her. 

6. 

1  know  the  way  she  went 

Home  with  her  maiden  posy, 
For  her  feet  have  touched  the  meadows 
And  left  the  daisies  rosy. 

7. 
Birds  in  the  high  Hall-garden 

Were  crying  and  calling  to  her, 
Where  is  Maud,  Maud,  Maud, 

One  is  come  to  woo  her. 


49 


Look,  a  horse  at  the  door, 

And  little  King  Charles  is  snarling, 
Go  back,  my  lord,  across  the  moor, 

You  are  not  her  darling. 
4 


50  MAUD. 


1. 

SCORN'D,  to  be  scorned  by  one  that  I  scorn, 

Is  that  a  matter  to  make  me  fret  ? 

That  a  calamity  hard  to  be  borne  ? 

Well,  he  may  live  to  hate  me  yet. 

Fool  that  I  am  to  be  vext  with  his  pride ! 

I  past  him,  I  was  crossing  his  lands ; 

He  stood  on  the  path  a  little  aside ; 

His  face,  as  1  grant,  in  spite  of  spite, 

Has  a  broad-blown  comeliness,  red  and  white, 

And  six  feet  two,  as  I  think,  he  stands ; 

But  his  essences  turn'd  the  live  air  sick, 

And  barbarous  opulence  jewel-thick 

Sunn'd  itself  on  his  breast  and  his  hands. 


51 


Who  shall  call  me  ungentle,  unfair, 
I  long'd  so  earnestly  then  and  there 
To  give  him  the  grasp  of  fellowship ; 
But  while  I  past  he  was  humming  an  air, 
Stopt,  and  then  with  a  riding-whip 
Leisurely  tapping  a  glossy  boot, 

^N 

And  curving  a  contumelious  lip, 

7      !* 
Gorgonised  me  from  head  to  f<    ' 

With  a  stony  British  stare. 

3. 

Why  sits  he  here  in  his  father's  chair? 
That  old  man  never  comes  to  his  place  : 
Shall  I  believe  him  ashamed  to  be  seen  ? 
For  only  once,  in  the  village  street, 
Last  year,  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  his  face, 
A  gray  old  wolf  and  a  lean. 
Scarcely,  now,  would  I  call  him  a  cheat ; 


For  then,  perhaps,  as  a  child  of  deceit, 
She  might  by  a  true  descent  be  untrue ; 
And  Maud  is  as  true  as  Maud  is  sweet : 
Tho'  I  fancy  her  sweetness  only  due 
To  the  sweeter  blood  by  the  other  side ; 
Her  mother  has  been  a  thing  complete, 
However  she  came  to  be  so  allied. 
And  fair  without,  faithful  within, 
Maud  to  him  is  nothing  akin  : 
Some  peculiar  mystic  grace 
Made  her  only  the  child  of  her  mother, 
And  heap'd  the  whole  inherited  sin 
On  that  huge  scapegoat  of  the  race, 
All,  all  upon  the  brother. 


Peace,  angry  spirit,  and  let  him  be  ! 
Has  not  his  sister  smiled  on  me  ? 


53 


XIV. 

1. 

MAUD  has  a  garden  of  roses 
And  lilies  fair  on  a  lawn  ; 
There  she  walks  in  her  state 
And  tends  upon  bed  and  bower , 
And  thither  I  climb'd  at  dawn 
And  stood  by  her  garden-gate  ; 
A  lion  ramps  at  the  top, 
He  is  claspt  by  a  passion-flower. 

2. 

Maud's  own  little  oak-room 
(Which  Maud,  like  a  precious  stone 


54  MAUD. 

Set  in  the  heart  of  the  carven  gloom, 

Lights  with  herself,  when  alone 

She  sits  by  her  music  and  books, 

And  her  brother  lingers  late 

With  a  roystering  company)  looks 

Upon  Maud's  own  garden  gate  : 

And  I  thought  as  I  stood,  if  a  hand,  as  white 

As  ocean-foam  in  the  moon,  were  laid 

On  the  hasp  of  the  window,  and  my  Delight 

Had  a  sudden  desire,  like  a  glorious  ghost,  to  glide 

Like  a  beam  of  the  seventh  Heaven,  down  to  my 

side, 
There  were  but  a  step  to  be  made. 

3. 

The  fancy  flatter'd  my  mind, 
And  again  seem'd  overbold  ; 
Now  I  thought  that  she  cared  for  me, 
Now  I  thought  she  was  kind 
Only  because  she  was  cold. 


55 


4. 

I  heard  no  sound  where  I  stood 

But  the  rivulet  on  from  the  lawn 

Running  down  to  my  own  dark  wood  ; 

Or  the  voice  of  the  long  sea-wave  as  it  swell'd 

Now  and  then  in  the  dim-gray  dawn ; 

But  I  look'd,  and   round,  all   round  the   house   I 

beheld 

The  death-white  curtain  drawn  ; 
Felt  a  horror  over  me  creep, 

; 

Prickle  my  skin  and  catch  my  breath, 

Knew    that    the    death-white    curtain    meant    but 

sleep, 
Yet  I  shudder'd  and  thought  like  a  fool  of  the  sleep 

of  death. 


56 


XV 

So  dark  a  mind  within  me  dwells, 
And  I  make  myself  such  evil  cheer, 

That  if  I  be  dear  to  some  one  else, 

Then  some  one  else  may  have  much  to  fear ; 

But  if  I  be  dear  to  some  one  else, 

Then  I  should  be  to  myself  more  dear. 

Shall  I  not  take  care  of  all  that  I  think, 

Yea,  ev'n  of  wretched  meat  and  drink, 

If  I  be  dear, 

If  I  be  dear  to  some  one  else. 


57 


XVI. 

1. 

THIS  lump  of  earth  has  left  his  estate 
The  lighter  by  the  loss  of  his  weight ; 
And  so  that  he  find  what  he  went  to  seek, 
And  fulsome  Pleasure  clog  him,  and  drown 
His  heart  in  the  gross  mud-honey  of  town, 
He  may  stay  for  a  year  who  has  gone  for  a  week : 
But  this  is  the  day  when  I  must  speak, 
And  I  see  my  Oread  coming  down, 
0  this  is  the  day ! 
O  beautiful  creature,  what  am  I 
That  I  dare  to  look  her  way ; 
Think  1  may  hold  dominion  sweet, 


59 


Lord  of  the  pulse  that  is  lord  of  her  breast, 
And  dream  of  her  beauty  with  tender  dread, 
From  the  delicate  Arab  arch  of  her  feet 
To  the  grace  that,  bright  and  light  as  the  crest 
Of  a  peacock,  sits  on  her  shining  head, 
And  she  knows  it  not:  O,  if  she  knew  it,  7 
To  know  her  beauty  might  half  undo  it.   j 
I  know  it  the  one  bright  thing  to  save 
My  yet  young  life  in  the  wilds  of  Time, 
Perhaps  from  madness,  perhaps  from  crime, 
Perhaps  from  a  selfish  grave. 

2. 

What,  if  she  be  fasten'd  to  this  fool  lord, 
Dare  I  bid  her  abide  by  her  word  ? 
Should  I  love  her  so  well  if  she 
Had  given  her  word  to  a  thing  so  low  ? 
Shall  I  love  her  as  well  if  she 
Can  break  her  word  were  it  even  for  me  ? 
I  trust  that  it  is  not  so. 


MAUD. 


Catch  not  my  breath,  O  clamorous  heart, 
Let  not  my  tongue  be  a  thrall  to  my  eye, 
For  I  must  tell  her  before  we  part, 
I  must  tell  her,  or  die. 


60 


XVII. 

Go  not,  happy  day, 

From  the  shining  fields, 
Go  not,  happy  day, 

Till  the  maiden  yields. 
Rosy  is  the  West, 

Rosy  is  the  South, 
Roses  are  her  cheeks, 

And  a  rose  her  mouth. 
When  the  happy  Yes 

Falters  from  her  lips, 
Pass  and  blush  the  news 

O'er  the  blowing  ships. 
Over  blowing  seas, 

Over  seas  at  rest, 


Pass  the  happy  news, 

Blush  it  thro'  the  West ; 
Till  the  red  man  dance 

By  his  red  cedar  tree, 
And  the  red  man's  babe 

Leap,  beyond  the  sea. 
Blush  from  West  to  East, 

Blush  from  East  to  West, 
Till  the  West  is  East, 

Blush  it  thro'  the  West. 
Rosy  is  the  West, 

Rosy  is  the  South, 
Roses  are  her  cheeks, 

And  a  rose  her  mouth. 


61 


62 


XVIII. 

1. 

I  HAVE  led  her  home,  my  love,  my  only  friend. 

There  is  none  like  her,  none. 

And  never  yet  so  warmly  ran  my  blood 

And  sweetly,  on  and  on 

Calming  itself  to  the  long-wish'd-for  end, 

Full  to  the  banks,  close  on  the  promised  good. 

2. 

None  like  her,  none. 

Just  now  the  dry-tongued  laurels'  pattering  talk 
Seem'd  her  light  foot  along  the  garden  walk, 


MAUD.  63 

And  shook  my  heart  to  think  she  comes  once  more ; 

But  even  then  I  heard  her  close  the  door, 

The  gates  of  Heaven  are  closed,  and  she  is  gone. 

3. 

There  is  none  like  her,  none. 

Nor  will  be  when  our  summers  have  deceased. 

0,  art  thou  sighing  for  Lebanon 

In   the  long  breeze   that  streams   to  thy  delicious 

East, 

Sighing  for  Lebanon, 

Dark  cedar,  tho'  thy  limbs  have  here  increased, 
Upon  a  pastoral  slope  as  fair, 
And  looking  to  the  South,  and  fed 
With  honey'd  rain  and  delicate  air, 
And  haunted  by  the  starry  head 
Of  her  whose  gentle  will  has  changed  my  fate, 
And  made  my  life  a  perfumed  altar-flame  ; 
And  over  whom  thy  darkness  must  have  spread 
With  such  delight  as  theirs  of  old,  thy  great 


64  MAUD. 

Forefathers  of  the  thornless  garden,  there 
Shadowing   the    snow-limb'd  Eve    from  whom  she 
came. 

4. 

Here  will  I  lie,  while  these  long  branches  sway, 
And  you  fair  stars  that  crown  a  happy  day 
Go  in  and  out  as  if  at  merry  play, 
Who  am  no  more  so  all  forlorn, 
As  when  it  seem'd  far  better  to  be  born 
To  labor  and  the  mattock-harden'd  hand, 
Than  nursed  at  ease  and  brought  to  understand 
A  sad  astrology,  the  boundless  plan 
That  makes  you  tyrants  in  your  iron  skies, 
Innumerable,  pitiless,  passionless  eyes, 
Cold  fires,  yet  with  power  to  burn  and  brand 
His  nothingness  into  man. 

5. 

But  now  shine  on,  and  what  care  I, 
Who  in  this  stormy  gulf  have  found  a  pearl 


MAUD.  65 

The  counter-charm  of  space  and  hollow  sky, 

And  do  accept  my  madness,  and  would  die 

To  save  from  some  slight  shame  one  simple  girl. 

6. 

Would  die ;  for  sullen-seeming  Death  may  give 
More  life  to  Love  than  is  or  ever  was 
In  our  low  world,  where  yet  't  is  sweet  to  live. 
Let  no  one  ask  me  how  it  came  to  pass ; 
It  seems  that  I  am  happy,  that  to  me 
A  livelier  emerald  twinkles  in  the  grass, 
A  purer  sapphire  melts  into  the  sea. 

7. 

Not  die ;  but  live  a  life  of  truest  breath, 
And  teach  true  life  to  fight  with  mortal  wrongs. 
0,  why  should  Love,  like  men  in  drinking-songsA 
Spice  his  fair  banquet  with  the  dust  of  death  ?       ) 
Make  answer,  Maud  my  bliss, 
Maud  made  my  Maud  by  that  long  lover's  kiss, 
5 


Life  of  my  life,  wilt  thou  not  answer  this? 

s~~- 

'  The  dusky  strand  of  Death  inwoven  here 
With  deal'  Love's    tie,  makes   Love   himself  more 
dear.' 


Is  that  enchanted  moan  only  the  swell 
Of  the  long  waves  that  roll  in  yonder  bay  ? 
And  hark  the  clock  within,  the  silver  knell 
Of  twelve  sweet  hours  that  past  in  bridal  white, 
And  died  to  live,  long  as  my  pulses  play  ; 
But  now  by  this  my  love  has  closed  her  sight 
And  given  false  death  her  hand,  and  stol'n  away 
To  dreamful  wastes  where  footless  fancies  dwell 
Among  the  fragments  of  the  golden  day. 
May  nothing  there  her  maiden  grace  affright  ! 
Dear  heart,  I  feel  with  thee  the  drowsy  spell. 
My  bride  to  be,  my  evermore  delight, 
My  own  heart's  heart  and  ownest  own,  farewell. 
It  is  but  for  a  little  space  I  go  : 


MAUD.  f>7 

And  ye  meanwhile  far  over  moor  and  fell 
Beat  to  the  noiseless  music  of  the  night ! 
Has  our  whole  earth  gone  nearer  to  the  glow 
Of  your  soft  splendors  that  you  look  so  bright  ? 
/  have  climb'd  nearer  out  of  lonely  Hell. 
Beat,  happy  stars,  timing  with  things  below, 
Beat  with  my  heart  more  blest  than  heart  can  tell, 
Blest,  but^fpr  some  dark  under-current  jaa>e 
That  seems  to  drajy  —  but  it  shall  not  be  so : 
Let  all  be  well,  be  well. 


XIX. 

1. 

STRANGE,  that  I  felt  so  gay, 
Strange,  that  I  tried  to-day 
To  beguile  her  melancholy  ; 
The  Sultan,  as  we  name  him,  — 
She  did  not  wish  to  blame  him  — 
But  he  vext  her  and  perplext  her 
With  his  worldly  talk  and  folly  : 
Was  it  gentle  to  reprove  her 
For  stealing  out  of  view 
From  a  little  lazy  lover 
Who  but  claims  her  as  his  due  ? 
Or  for  chilling  his  caresses 
By  the  coldness  of  her  manners, 


Nay,  the  plainness  of  her  dresses  ? 
Now  I  know  her  but  in  two, 
Nor  can  pronounce  upon  it 
If  one  should  ask  me  whether 
The  habit,  hat,  and  feather, 
Or  the  frock  and  gypsy  bonnet 
Be  the  neater  and  completer ; 
For  nothing  can  be  sweeter 
Than  maiden  Maud  in  either. 

2. 

But  to-morrow,  if  we  live, 
Our  ponderous  squire  will  give 
A  grand  political  dinner 
To  half  the  squirelings  near ; 
And  Maud  will  wear  her  jewels, 
And  the  bird  of  prey  will  hover, 
And  the  titmouse  hope  to  win  her 
With  his  chirrup  at  her  ear. 


3. 

A  grand  political  dinner 
To  the  men  of  many  acres, 
A  gathering  of  the  Tory, 
A  dinner  and  then  a  dance 
For  the  maids  and  marriage-makers, 
And  every  eye  but  mine  will  glance 
At  Maud  in  all  her  glory. 

4. 

For  I  am  not  invited, 

But,  with  the  Sultan's  pardon, 

I  am  all  as  well  delighted, 

For  I  know  her  own  rose-garden, 

And  mean  to  linger  in  it 

Till  the  dancing  will  be  over ; 

And  then,  O  then,  come  out  to  me 

For  a  minute,  but  for  a  minute, 

Come  out  to  your  own  true  lover, 


That  your  true  lover  may  see 
Your  glory  also,  and  render 
All  homage  to  his  own  darling, 
Queen  Maud  in  all  her  splendor. 


72 


XX. 

RIVULET  crossing  rny  ground, 

And  bringing  me  down  from  the  Hall 

This  garden-rose  that  I  found, 

Forgetful  of  Maud  and  me, 

And  lost  in  trouble  and  moving  round 


Here  at  the  head  of  a  tinkling  fall, 
And  trying  to  pass  to  the  sea  ; 
O  Rivulet,  born  at  the  Hall, 
My  Maud  has  sent  it  by  thee 
(If  I  read  her  sweet  will  right) 
On  a  blushing  mission  to  me, 
Saying  in  odor  and  color,  'Ah,  be 
Among  the  roses  to-night.' 


73 


XXI. 

1. 
COME  into  the  garden,  Maud, 

For  the  black  bat,  night,  has  flown, . 
Come  into  the  garden,  Maud, 

I  am  here  at  the  gate  alone  ; 
And  the  woodbine  spices  are  wafted  abroad, 

And  the  musk  of  .the  roses  blown. 


For  a  breeze  of  morning  moves, 
And  the  planet  of  Love  is  on  high, 

Beginning  to  faint  in  the  light  that  she  loves 
On  a  bed  of  daffodil  sky, 

To  faint  in  the  light  of  the  sun  she  loves, 
To  faint  in  his  light,  and  to  die. 


74 


All  night  have  the  roses  heard 

The  flute,  violin,  bassoon  ; 
All  night  has  the  casement  jessamine  stirr'd 

To  the  dancers  dancing  in  tune  : 
Till  a  silence  fell  with  the  waking  bird, 

And  a  hush  with  the  setting  moon. 


4. 

I  said  to  the  lily,  'There  is  but  one 

With  whom  she  has  heart  to  be  gay. 
When  will  the  dancers  leave  her  alone  ? 

She  is  weary  of  dance  and  play.' 
Now  half  to  the  setting  moon  are  gone, 

And  half  to  the  rising  day ; 
Low  on  the  sand  and  loud  on  the  stone 

The  last  wheel  echoes  away. 


5. 
I  said  to  the  rose,  '  The  brief  night  goes 

In  babble  and  revel  and  wine. 
O  young  lord-lover,  what  sighs  are  those, 

For  one  that  will  never  be  thine  ? 
But  mine,  but  mine,'  so  I  sware  to  the  rose, 

'  For  ever  and  ever,  mine.' 

6. 
And  the  soul  of  the  rose  went  into  my  blood, 

A?  the  music  clash'd  in  the  hall ; 
And  long  by  the  garden  lake  I  stood, 

For  I  heard  your  rivulet  fall 
From  the  lake  to  the  meadow  and  on  to  the  wood, 

Our  wood,  that  is  dearer  than  all ; 

7. 

From  the  meadow  your  walks  have  left  so  sweet 
That  whenever  a  March-wind  sighs 


76 


He  sets  the  jewel-print  of  your  feet 

In  violets  blue  as  your  eyes, 
To  the  woody  hollows  in  which  we  meet 

And  the  valleys  of  Paradise. 


8. 
The  slender  acacia  would  not  shake 

One  long  milk-bloom  pn  the  tree  ; 
The  white  lake-blossom  fell  into  the  lake, 

As  the  pimpernel  dozed  on  the  lea ; 
But  the  rose  was  awake  all  night  for  your  sake, 

Knowing  your  promise  to  me ; 
The  lilies  and  roses  were  all  awake, 

They  sigh'd  for  the  dawn  and  thee. 


9. 

Queen  rose  of  the  rosebud  garden  of  girls, 
Come  hither,  the  dances  are  done, 


In  gloss  of  satin  and  glimmer  of  pearls, 

Queen  lily  and  rose  in  one ; 
Shine  out,  little  head,  sunning  over  with  curls, 

To  the  flowers,  and  be  their  sun. 


10. 

There  has  fallen  a  splendid  tear 

From  the  passion-flower  at  the  gate. 
She  is  coming,  my  dove,  my  dear; 

She  is  coming,  my  life,  my  fate ; 
The  red  rose  cries,  '  She  is  near,  she  is  near ; 

And  the  white  rose  weeps,  '  She  is  late  ;' 
The  larkspur  listens,  '  I  hear,  I  hear  ;' 

And  the  lily  whispers,  « I  wait.' 

11. 

She  is  coming,  my  own,  my  sweet ; 
Were  it  ever  so  airy  a  tread, 


78 


My  heart  would  hear  her  and  beat, 
Were  it  earth  in  an  earthy  bed ; 

My  dust  would  hear  her  and  beat, 
Had  I  lain  for  a  century  dead  ; 

Would  start  and  tremble  under  her  feet, 
And  blossom  in  purple  and  red. 


79 


XXII. 


'  THE  fault  was  mine,  the  fault  was  mine  ' — 

Why  am  I  sitting  here  so  stunn'd  and  still, 

Plucking  the  harmless  wild-flower  on  the  hill  ?  -— 

It  is  this  guilty  hand  !  — 

And  there  rises  ever  a  passionate  cry 

From  underneath  in  the  darkening  land  — 

What  is  it  that  has  been  done  ? 

O  dawn  of  Eden  bright  over  earth  and  sky, 

The  fires  of  Hell  brake  out  of  thy  rising  sun, 

The  fires  of  Hell  and  of  Hate ; 

For  she,  sweet  soul,  had  hardly  spoken  a  word, 

When  her  brother  ran  in  his  rage  to  the  gate. 


80  MAUD/ 

He  came  with  the  babe-faced  lord ; 

Heap'd  on  her  terms  of  disgrace, 

And  while  she  wept,  and  I  strove  to  be  cool, 

He  fiercely  gave  me  the  lie, 

Till  I  with  as  fierce  an  anger  spoke, 

And  he  struck  me,  madman,  over  the  face, 

Struck  me  before  the  languid  fool, 

Who  was  gaping  and  grinning  by  : 

Struck  for  himself  an  evil  stroke ; 

Wrought  for  his  house  an  irredeemable  woe  ; 

For  front  to  front  in  an  hour  we  stood, 

And  a  million  horrible  bellowing  echoes  broke 

From  the  red-ribb'd  hollow  behind  the  wood, 

And  thunder'd  up  into  Heaveh  the  Christless  code, 

That  must  have  life  for  a  blow. 

Ever  and  ever  afresh  they  seem'd  to  grow. 

Was  it  he  lay  there  with  a  fading  eye  ? 

'  The  fault  was  mine,'  he  whisper'd,  '  fly ! ' 

Then  glided  out  of  the  joyous  wood 

The  ghastly  Wraith  of  one  that  I  know; 


ftAUD.  81 

And  there  rang  on  a  sudden  a  passionate  cry, 
A  cry  for  a  brother's  blood  : 

It  will  ring  in  my  heart  and  my  ears,  till  I  die,  till 
I -die. 

2. 

Is  it  gone  ?  my  pulses  beat  — 

What  was  it  ?  a  lying  trick  of  the  brain  ? 

Yet  I  thought  I  saw  her  stand, 

A  shadow  there  at  my  feet, 

High  over  the  shadowy  land. 

It  is>  gone ;  and  the  heavens  fall  in  a  gentle  rain, 

When  they  should  burst  and  drown  with  deluging 

storms 

The  feeble  vassals  of  wine  and  anger  and  lust, 
The  little  hearts  that  know  not  how  to  forgive : 
Arise,  my  God,  and  strike,  for  we  hold  Thee  just, 
Strike  dead  the  whole  weak  race  of  venomous  worms, 
That  sting  each  other  here  in  the  dust ; 
We  are  not  worthy  to  live. 


XXIII. 

l. 

SEE  what  a  lovely  shell, 
Small  and  pure  as  a  pearl, 
Lying  close  to  my  foot, 
Frail,  but  a  work  divine, 
Made  so  fairily  well 
With  delicate  spire  and  whorl, 
How  exquisitely  minute, 
A  miracle  of  design ! 

2. 

What  is  it  ?  a  learned  man 
Could  give  it  a  clumsy  name. 


83 


Let  him  name  it  who  can, 
The  beauty  would  be  the  same. 


3. 

The  tiny  cell  is  forlorn, 
Void  of  the  little  living  will 
That  made  it  stir  on  the  shore. 
Did  he  stand  at  the  diamond  door 
Of  his  house  in  a  rainbow  frill  ? 
Did  he  push,  when  he  was  uncniTd, 
A  golden  foot  or  a  fairy  horn 
Thro'  his  dim  water-world  ? 


4. 

Slight,  to  be  crush'd  with  a  tap 
Of  my  finger-nail  on  the  sand, 
Small,  but  a  work  divine, 
Frail,  but  of  force  to  withstand, 


Year  upon  year,  the  shock 
Of  cataract  seas  that  snap 
The  three-decker's  oaken  spine 
Athwart  the  ledges  of  rock, 
Here  on  the  Breton  strand  ! 

5. 

Breton,  not  Briton ;  here 
Like  a  shipwreck'd  man  on  a  coast 
Of  ancient  fable  and  fear  — 
Plagued  with  a  flitting  to  and  fro, 
A  disease,  a  hard  mechanic  ghost 
That  never  came  from  on  high 
Nor  ever  arose  from  below, 
But  only  moves  with  the  moving  eye, 
Flying  along  the  land  and  the  main  - 
Why  should  it  look  like  Maud  ? 
Am  I  to  be  overawed 
By  what  I  cannot  but  know 
Is  a  juggle  bora  of  the  brain  ? 


Back  from  the  Breton  coast, 
Sick  of  a  nameless  fear, 
Back  to  the  dark  sea-line 
Looking,  thinking  of  all  I  have  lost 
An  old  song  vexes  my  ear ; 
But  that  of  Lamech  is  mine. 


7. 

For  years,  a  measureless  ill, 
For  years,  for  ever,  to  part  — 
But  she,  she  would  love  me  still  ; 
And  as  long,  O  God,  as  she 
Have  a  grain  of  love  for  me, 
So  long,  no  doubt,  no  doubt, 
Shall  I  nurse  in  my  dark  heart, 
However  weary,  a  spark  of  will 
Not  to  be  trampled  out. 


8. 

Strange,  that  the  mind,  when  fraught 
With  a  passion  so  intense 
One  would  think  that  it  well 
Might  drown  all  life  in  the  eye,  — 
That  it  should,  by  being  so  overwrought, 
Suddenly  strike  on  a  sharper  sense 
For  a  shell,  or  a  flower,  little  things 
Which  else  would  have  been  past  by  ! 
And  now  I  remember,  I, 
When  he  lay  dying  there, 
I  noticed  one  of  his  many  rings 
(For  he  had  many,  poor  worm)  and  thought 
It  his  mother's  hair. 


Who  knows  if  he  be  dead  ? 
Whether  I  need  have  fled  ? 
Am  I  guilty  of  blood  ? 


However  this  may  be, 

Comfort  her,  comfort  her,  all  things  good, 

While  I  am  over  the  sea ! 

Let  me  and  my  passionate  love  go  by, 

But  speak  to  her  all  things  holy  and  high, 

Whatever  happen  to  me  ! 

Me  and  my  harmful  love  go  by ; 

But  come  to  her  waking,  find  her  asleep, 

Powers  of  the  height,  Powers  of  the  deep, 

And  comfort  her  tho'  I  die. 


MAUD. 


XXIV. 

1. 

O  THAT  't  were  possible 

After  long  grief  and  pain 

To  find  the  arms  of  my  true  love 

Round  me  once  again ! 

2. 

When  I  was  wont  to  meet  her 
In  the  silent  woody  places 
Of  the  land  that  gave  me  birth, 
We  stood  tranced  in  long  embraces 
Mixt  with  kisses  sweeter,  sweeter 
Than  anything  on  earth. 


MAUD. 


A  shadow  flits  before  me, 

Not  thou,  but  like  to  thee  ; 

Ah  Christ,  that  it  were  possible 

For  one  short  hour  to  see 

The  souls  we  loved,  that  they  might  tell  us 

What  and  where  they  be. 

4. 

It  leads  me  forth  at  evening, 

It  lightly  winds  and  steals 

In  a  cold  white  robe  before  me, 

When  all  my  spirit  reels 

At  the  shouts,  the  leagues  of  lights, 

And  the  roaring  of  the  wheels. 

5. 

Half  the  night  I  waste  in  sighs, 
Half  in  dreams  I  sorrow  after 


90 


The  delight  of  early  skies  ; 
In  a  wakeful  doze  I  sorrow 
For  the  hand,  the  lips,  the  eyes, 
For  the  meeting  of  the  morrow, 
The  delight  of  happy  laughter, 
The  delight  of  low  replies. 


'T  is  a  morning  pure  and  sweet, 
And  a  dewy  splendor  falls 
On  the  little  flower  that  clings 
To  the  turrets  and  the  walls  ; 
'T  is  a  morning  pure  and  sweet, 
And  the  light  and  shadow  fleet ; 
She  is  walking  in  the  meadow, 
And  the  woodland  echo  rings  ; 
In  a  moment  we  shall  meet ; 
She  is  singing  in  the  meadow, 
And  the  rivulet  at  her  feet 


MAUD.  91 

Ripples  on  in  light  and  shadow 
To  the  ballad  that  she  sings. 

7. 

Do  I  hear  her  sing  as  of  old, 
My  bird  with  the  shining  head, 
My  own  dove  with  the  tender  eye  ? 
But  there  rings  on  a  sudden  a  passionate  cry, 
There  is  some  one  dying  or  dead, 
And  a  sullen  thunder  is  roll'd ; 
For  a  tumult  shakes  the  city, 
And  I  wake,  my  dream  is  fled  ; 
In  the  shuddering  dawn,  behold, 
Without  knowledge,  without  pity, 
By  the  curtains  of  my  bed 
That  abiding  phantom  cold. 

8. 

Get  thee  hence,  nor  come  again, 
Mix  not  memory  with  doubt, 


Pass,  thou  deathlike  type  of  pain, 
Pass  and  cease  to  move  about, 
J  *T  is  the  blot  upon  the  brain 
L  That  will  show  itself  without. 


9. 

Then  I  rise,  the  eave-drops  fall, 
And  the  yellow  vapors  choke 
The  great  city  sounding  wide  ; 
The  day  comes,  a  dull  red  bajl 
Wrapt  in  drifts  of  lurid  smoke 
On  the  misty  river-tide. 


10. 

Thro'  the  hubbub  of  the  market 
I  steal,  a  wasted  frame, 
It  crosses  here,  it  crosses  there, 
Thro'  all  that  crowd  confused  and  loud, 


MAUD.  93 


The  shadow  still  the  same  ; 
And  on  my  heavy  eyelids 
My  anguish  hangs  like  shame. 


11. 

Alas  for  her  that  met  me, 
That  heard  me  softly  call, 
Came  glimmering  thro'  the  laurels 
At  the  quiet  evenfall, 
In  the  garden  by  the  turrets 
Of  the  old  manorial  hall. 


12. 

Would  the  happy  spirit  descend, 
From  the  realms  of  light  and  song, 
In  the  chamber  or  the  street, 
As  she  looks  among  the  blest, 
Should  I  fear  to  greet  my  friend 


Or  to  say  'forgive  the  wrong,' 
Or  to  ask  her,  '  take  me,  sweet, 
To  the  regions  of  thy  rest '  ? 

13. 

But  the  broad  light  glares  and  beats, 

And  the  shadow  flits  and  fleets 

And  will  not  let  me  be ; 

And  I  loathe  the  squares  and  streets, 

And  the  faces  that  one  meets, 

Hearts  with  no  love  for  me  : 

Always  I  long  to  creep 

Into  some  still  cavern  deep, 

There  to  weep,  and  weep,  and  weep 

My  whole  soul  out  to  thee. 


XXV. 

1. 

DEAD,  long  dead, 

Long  dead ! 

And  my  heart  is  a  handful  of  dust, 

And  the  wheels  go  over  my  head, 

And  my  bones  are  shaken  with  pain, 

For  into  a  shallow  grave  they  are  thrust, 

Only  a  yard  beneath  the  street, 

And  the  hoofs  of  the  horses  beat,  beat, 

The  hoofs  of  the  horses  beat, 

Beat  into  my  scalp  and  my  brain, 

With  never  an  end  to  the  stream  of  passing  feet, 

Driving,  hurrying,  marrying,  burying, 

Clamor  and  rumble,  and  ringing  and  clatter, 


96  MAUD. 

And  here  beneath  it  is  all  as  bad, 

For  I  thought  the  dead  had  peace,  but  it  is  not  so 

To  have  no  peace  in  the  grave,  is  that  not  sad  ? 

But  up  and  down  and  to  and  fro, 

Ever  about  me  the  dead  men  go ; 

And  then  to  hear  a  dead  man  chatter 

Is  enough  to  drive  one  mad. 


Wretchedest  age,  since  Time  began 

They  cannot  even  bury  a  man  ; 

And  tho'  we  paid  our  tithes  in  the  days  that  are  gone, 

Not  a  bell  was  rung,  not  a  prayer  was  read ; 

It  is  that  which  makes  us  loud  in  the  world  of  the 

dead; 

There  is  none  that  does  his  work,  not  one ; 
A  touch  of  their  office  might  have  sufficed, 
But  the  churchmen  fain  would  kill  their  church, 
As  the  churches  have  kill'd  their  Christ. 


97 


3. 

See,  there  is  one  of  us  sobbing, 
No  limit  to  his  distress; 
And  another,  a  lord  of  all  things,  praying 
To  his  own  great  self,  as  I  guess ; 
And  another,  a  statesman  there,  betraying 
His  party-secret,  fool,  to  the  press  ; 
And  yonder  a  vile  physician,  blabbing 
The  case  of  his  patient  —  all  for  what? 
To  tickle  the  maggot  born  in  an  empty  head, 
And  wheedle  a  world  that  loves  him  not, 
For  it  is  but  a  world  of  the  dead. 

4. 

Nothing  but  idiot  gabble  ! 
For  the  prophecy  given  of  old 
And  then  not  understood, 
Has  come  to  pass  as  foretold ; 
Not  let  any  man  think  for  the  public  good, 
7 


98  MAUH. 

But  babble,  merely  for  babble. 

For  I  never  whisper'd  a  private  affair 

Within  the  hearing  of  cat  or  mouse, 

No,  not  to  myself  in  the  closet  alone, 

But  I  heard  it  shouted  at  once  from  the  top  of  the 

house  ; 

Everything  came  to  be  known  : 
Who  told  him  we  were  there  ? 

5. 

Not  that  gray  old  wolf,  for  he  came  not  back 
From  the  wilderness,  full  of  wolves,  where  he  used 

to  lie ; 
He  has  gather'd  the  bones  for  his  o'ergrown  whelp 

to  crack ; 
Crack  them  now  for  yourself,  and  howl,  and  die. 

6. 

Prophet,  curse  me  the  blabbing  lip, 
And  curse  me  the  British  vermin,  the  rat ; 


MAUD.  99 

1  know  not  whether  he  came  in  the  Hanover  ship, 

But  I  know  that  he  lies  ana  listens  mute 

In  an  ancient  mansion's  crannies  and  holes  : 

Arsenic,  arsenic,  sir,  would  do  it, 

Except  that  now  we  poison  our  babes,  poor  souls  ! 

It  is  all  used  up  for  that. 

7. 

Tell  him  now  :  she  is  standing  here  at  my  head; 
Not  beautiful  now,  not  even  kind  ; 
He  may  take  her  now ;  for  she  never  speaks  her 

mind, 

But  is  ever  the  one  thing  silent  here. 
She  is  not  of  us,  as  I  divine ; 
She  comes  from  another  stiller  world  of  the  dead, 
Stiller,  not  fairer  than  mine. 

8- 

But  I  know  where  a  garden  grows, 
Fairer  than  aught  in  the  world  beside, 


100 


All  made  up  of  the  lily  and  rose 

That  blow  by  night,  when  the  season  is  good, 

To  the  sound  of  dancing  music  and  flutes  : 

It  is  only  flowers,  they  had  no  fruits, 

And  I  almost  fear  they  are  not  roses,  but  blood 

For  the  keeper  was  one,  so  full  of  pride, 

He  linkt  a  dead  man  there  to  a  spectral  bride ; 

For  he,  if  he  had  not  been  a  Sultan  of  brutes, 

Would  he  have  that  hole  in  his  side? 


But  what  will  the  old  man  say  ? 

He  laid  a  cruel  snare  in  a  pit 

To  catch  a  friend  of  mine  one  stormy  day ; 

Yet  now  I  could  even  weep  to  think  of  it ; 

For  what  will  the  old  man  say 

When  he  comes  to  the  second  corpse  in  the  pit  ? 

10. 
Friend,  to  be  struck  by  the  public  foe, 


MAUD.  101 

Then  to  strike  him  and  iay  him  low, 
That  were  a  public  merit,  far, 
Whatever  the  Quaker  holds,  from  sin  , 
But  the  red  life  spilt  for  a  private  blow  — 
I  swear  to  you,  lawful  and  lawless  war 
Are  scarcely  even  akin. 

11. 

0  me,  why  have  they  not  buried  me  deep  enough  ? 
Is  it  kind  to  have  made  me  a  grave  so  rough, 
Me,  that  was  never  a  quiet  sleeper  ? 

Maybe  still  I  am  but  half  dead  ; 
Then  I  cannot  be  wholly  dumb; 

1  will  cry  to  the  steps  above  my  head, 

And  somebody,  surely,  some  kind  heart  will  come 
To  bury  me,  bury  me 
Deeper,  ever  so  little  deeper. 


102 


XXVI. 


MY  life  has  crept  so  long  on  a  broken  wing 
Thro'  cells  of  madness,  haunts  of  horror  and  fear, 
That   I    come    to   be    grateful   at   last    for   a   little 

thing : 

My  mood  is  changed,  for  it  fell  at  a  time  of  year 
When  the  face  of  night  is  fair  on  the  dewy  downs. 
And  the  shining  daffodil  dies,  and  the  Charioteer 
And  starry  Gemini  hang  like  glorious  crowns 
Over  Orion's  grave  low  down  in  the  west, 
That  like  a  silent  lightning  under  the  stars 
She  seem'd  to  divide  in  a  dream  from  a  band  of  the 

blest, 


MAUD.  103 

And  spoke  of  u  hope  for  the  world  in  the  coming 

wars  — 

'  And  in  that  hope,  dear  soul,  let  trouble  have  rest, 
Knowing  I  tarry  for  thee,'  and  pointed  to  ]\Jars 
As   he   glow'd   like   a   ruddy  shield  on  the  Lion's 

breast. 

2. 
And   it  was   but  a  dream,  yet  it  yielded   a   dear 

delight 
To  have  look'd,  tho'  but  in  a  drearn,  upon  eyes  so 

fair, 
That  had  .  been   in  a  weary  world   my  one  thing 

bright ; 

And  it  was  but  a  dream,  yet  it  lighten'd  my  despair 
When  I  thought  that  a  war  would  arise  in  defence 

of  the  right, 

That  an  iron  tyranny  now  should  bend  or  cease, 
The  glory  of  manhood  stand  on  his  ancient  height 
Nor  Britain's  one  sole  God  be  the  millionnaire : 


104  MAUD. 

N"o_more_shall  commerce  be  all  in  nil,  and  Peace 
Pipe  on  her  pastoral  hillock  a  languid  note, 
And  watch  her  harvest  ripen,  her  herd  increase, 
Nor  the  cannon-bullet  rust  on  the  slothful  shore, 
And  the  cobweb  woven  across  the  cannon's  throat, 
Shall  shake  its  threaded  tears  in  the  wind  no  more. 


And  as  months  ran  on  and  rumor  of  battle  grew, 
'It  is  time,  it  is  time,  0  passionate  heart,'  said  1 
(For  I  cleaved  to  a  cause  that  I  felt  to  be  pure  and 

true), 

:  It  is  time,  O  passionate  heart  and  morbid  eye, 
That  old  hysterical  rnock-disease  should  die.' 
And  I  stood  on  a  giant  deck  and  mixed  my  breath 
With  a  loyal  people  shouting  a  battle  cry, 
Till  I  saw  the  dreary  phantom  arise  and  fly 
Far  into  the  North,  and  battle,  and  seas  of  death. 


MAUD.  105 

4. 

Let  it  go  or  stay,  so  I  wake  to  the  higher  aims 
Of  a  land  that  has  lost  for  a  little  her  lust  of  gold, 
And  love  of  a  peace  that  was  full  of  wrongs  and 

shames, 

Horrible,  hateful,  monstrous,  not  to  be  told ; 
And    hail    once    more    to    the    banner    of    battle 

unroll 'd ! 
Tho'  many  a  light   shall   darken,  and   many  shall 

weep 
For  those  that  are  crush'd  in  the  clash  of  jarring 

claims, 
Yet  God's  just  doom  shall  be  wreak'd  on  a  giant 

liar; 

And  many  a  darkness  into  the  light  shall  leap, 
And  shine  in  the  sudden  making  of  splendid  names 
And  noble  thought  be  freer  under  the  sun, 
And  the  heart  of  a  people  beat  with  one  desire ; 
For  the  long,  long  canker  of  peace  is  over  and  done , 


106  MAUD. 

And  now  by  the  side  of  the  Black  and  the  Baltic 

deep, 
And    deathful-grinning    mouths    of    the     fortress, 

flames 
The  blood-red  blossom  of  war  with  a  heart  of  fire. 


THE    BROOK; 


'  HERE,  by  this  brook,  we  parted;  I  to  the  East 
And  he  for  Italy  —  too  late  —  too  late  : 
One  whom  the  strong  sons  of  the  world  despise ; 
For  lucky  rhymes  to  him  were  scrip  and  share, 
And  mellow  metres  more  than  cent  for  cent; 
Nor  could  he  understand  how  money  breeds, 
Thought  it  a  dead  thing;  yet  himself  could  make 
The  thing  that  is  not  as  the  thing  that  is. 
O  had  he  lived !     In  our  school-books  we  say, 
Of  those  that  held  their  heads  above  the  crowd, 
They  flourish 'd  then  or  then  ;  but  life  in  him 
107 


108  THE    BROOK. 

Could  scarce  be  said  to  flourish,  only  touch'd 
On  such  a  time  as  goes  before  the  leaf, 
When  all  the  wood  stands  in  a  mist  of  green, 
And  nothing  perfect :  yet  the  brook  he  loved, 
For  which,  in  branding  summers  of  Bengal, 
Or  ev'n  the  sweet  half-English  Neilgherry  air, 
I  panted,  seems,  as  I  relisten  to  it, 
Prattling  the  primrose  fancies  of  the  boy, 
To  me  that  loved  him ;  for  "  0  brook,"  he  says, 
"  O  babbling  brook,"  says  Edmund  in  his  rhyme, 
"  Whence   come   you  ?  "  and  the  brook,  why  not  ? 
replies. 

I  come  from  haunts  of  coot  and  hern, 

I  make  a  sudden  sally 
And  sparkle  out  among  the  fern, 

To  bicker  down  a  valley. 

By  thirty  hills  I  hurry  down, 

Or  slip  between  the  ridges, 
By  twenty  thorps,  a  little  town, 

And  half  a  hundred  bridges. 


THE    BROOK.  109 

Till  last  by  Philip's  farm  I  flow- 
To  join  the  brimming  river, 

For  men  may  come  and  men  may  go, 
But  I  go  on  for  ever. 

'  Poor  lad,  he  died  at  Florence,  quite  worn  out, 
Travelling  to  Naples.     There  is  Darnley  bridge, 
It  has  more  ivy ;  there  the  river ;  and  there 
Stands  Philip's  farm  where  brook  and  river  meet. 

I  chatter  over  stony  ways, 

In  little  sharps  and  trebles, 
I  bubble  into  eddying  bays, 

I  babble  on  the  pebbles. 

With  many  a  curve  my  banks  I  fret 

By  many  a  field  and  fallow, 
And  many  a  fairy  foreland  set 

With  willow-weed  and  mallow. 

I  chatter,  chatter,  as  I  flow 

To  join  the  brimming  river, 
For  men  may  come  and  men  may  go, 

But  I  go  on  for  ever. 


110  THE    BROOK. 

'  But  Philip  chatter'd  more  than  brook  or  bird 
Old  Philip  ;  all  about  the  fields  you  caught 
His  weary  daylong  chirping,  like  the  dry 
High-elbow'd  grigs  that  leap  in  summer  grass. 

I  wind  about,  and  in  and  out, 
With  here  a  blossom  sailing, 

And  here  and  there  a  lusty  trout, 
And  here  and  there  a  grayling, 

And  here  and  there  a  foamy  flake 

Upon  me,  as  I  travel, 
With  many  a  silvery  waterbreak 

Above  the  golden  gravel, 

And  draw  them  all  along,  and  flow 

To  join  the  brimming  river, 
For  men  may  come  and  men  may  go, 

But  I  go  on  for  ever. 

'  0  darling  Katie  Willows,  his  one  child  ! 
A  maiden  of  our  century,  yet  most  meek ; 
A  daughter  of  our  meadows,  yet  not  coarse  ; 


THE    BROOK.  Ill 

Straignt,  but  as  lissome  as  a  hazel  wand ; 
Her  eyes  a  bashful  azure,  and  her  hair 
In  gloss  and  hue  the  chestnut,  when  the  shell 
Divides  three-fold  to  show  the  fruit  within. 

1  Sweet  Katie,  once  I  did  her  a  good  turn, 
Her  and  her  far-off  cousin  and  betrothed, 
James  Willows,  of  one  name  and  heart*  with  her. 
For  here  I  came,  twenty  years  back  —  the  week 
Before  I  parted  with  poor  Edmund  ;  crost 
By  that  old  bridge  which,  half  in  ruins  then, 
Still  makes  a  hoary  eyebrow  for  the  gleam 
Beyond  it,  where  the  waters  marry  —  crost, 
Whistling  a  random  bar  of  Bonny  Doon, 
And  push'd  at  Philip's  garden-gate.    The  gate, 
Half-parted  from  a  weak  and  scolding  hinge, 
Stuck ;  and  he  clamor'd  from  a  casement,  "  run," 
To  Katie  somewhere  in  the  walks  below, 
"  Run,  Katie  !  "  Katie  never  ran  :  she  moved 
To  meet  me,  winding  under  woodbine  bowers, 


112  THE    BROOK. 

A  little  flutter'd,  with  her  eyelids  down, 
Fresh  apple-blossom,  blushing  for  a  boon. 

'  What  was  it  ?  less  of  sentiment  than  sense 
Had  Katie ;  not  illiterate  ;  neither  one 
Who  dabbling  in  the  fount  of  fictive  tears, 
And  nursed  by  mealy-mouth'd  philanthropies, 
Divorce  the  Feeling  from  her  mate  the  Deed. 

'  She  told  me.     She  and  James  had  quarrell'd. 

Why? 

What  cause  of  quarrel  ?     None,  she  said,  no  cause  ; 
James  had  no  cause  :  but  when  I  prest  the  cause, 
I  learnt  that  James  had  flickering  jealousies 
Which  anger'd  her.     Who  anger'd  James  ?     I  said. 
But  Katie  snatch'd  her  eyes  at  once  from  mine, 
And  sketching  with  her  slender  pointed  foot 
Some  figure  like  a  wizard's  pentagram 
On  garden  gravel,  let  my  query  pass 
Unclaim'd,  in  flushing  silence,  till  I  ask'd 


THE    BUOOK.  113 

If  James  were  coming.     "  Coming  every  day," 

She  answered,  "  ever  longing  to  explain, 

But  evermore  her  father  came  across 

With  some  long-winded  tale,  and  broke  him  short.; 

And  James  departed  vext  with  him  and  her." 

How    could    I    help    her  ?     "  Would    I  —  was    it 

wrong  ?  " 

(Claspt  hands  and  that  petitionary  grace 
Of  sweet  seventeen  subdued  me  ere  she  spoke) 
"  0  would  I  take  her  father  for  one  hour, 
For  one  half-hour,  and  let  him  talk  to  me  !  " 
And  even  while  she  spoke,  I  saw  where  James 
Made  toward  us,  like  a  wader  in  the  surf, 
Beyond  the  brook,  waist-deep  in  meadow-sweet. 

'  O  Katie,  what  I  suffer'd  for  your  sake  ! 
For  in  I  went,  and  call'd  old  Philip  out 
To  show  the  farm  :  full  willingly  he  rose  : 
He  led  me  thro'  the  short  sweet-smelling  lanes 
Of  his  wheat-suburb,  babbling  as  he  went. 


114  THE    BROOK. 

He  praised  his  land,  his  horses,  his  machines ; 
He  praised  his  ploughs,  his  cows,  his  hogs,  his  dogs ; 
He  praised  his  hens,  his  geese,  his  guinea-hens ; 
His  pigeons,  who  in  session  on  their  roofs 
Approved  him,  bowing  at  their  own  deserts  : 
Then  from  the  plaintive  mother's  teat  he  took 
Her  blind  and  shuddering  puppies,  naming  each, 
And   naming  those,   his   friends,   for   whom    they 

were: 

Then  crost  the  common  into  Darnley  chase 
To  show  Sir  Arthur's  deer.     In  copse  and  fern 
Twinkled  the  innumerable  ear  and  tail. 
Then,  seated  on  a  serpent-rooted  beech, 
He  pointed  out  a  pasturing  colt,  and  said : 
'  That  was  the  four-year-old  I  sold  the  Squire.' 
And  there  he  told  a  long  long-winded  tale 
Of  how  the  Squire  had  seen  the  colt  at  grass, 
And  how  it  was  the  thing  his  daughter  wish'd, 
And  how  he  sent  the  bailiff  to  the  farm 
To  learn  the  price,  and  what  the  price  he  ask'd, 


THE    BROOK.  115 

And  how  the  bailiff  swore  that  he  was  mad, 

But  he  stood  firm;  and  so  the  matter  hung; 

He  gave  them  line :  and  five  days  after  that 

He  met  the  bailiff  at  the  Golden  Fleece, 

Who  then  and  there  had  offer'd  something  more, 

But  he  stood  firm;  and  so  the  matter  hung; 

He  knew  the  man ;  the  colt  would  fetch  its  price ; 

He  gave  them  line :  and  how  by  chance  at  last 

(It  might  be  May  or  April,  he  forgot, 

The  last  of  April  or  the  first  of  May) 

He  found  the  bailiff  riding  by  the  farm, 

And,  talking  from  the  point,  he  drew  him  in, 

And  there  he  mellow'd'all  his  heart  with  ale, 

Until  they  closed  a  bargain,  hand  in  hand. 

4  Then,  while  I  breathed  in  sight  of  haven,  he, 
Poor  fellow,  could  he  help  it  ?  recommenced, 
And  ran  thro'  all  the  coltish  chronicle, 
Wild  Will,  Black  Bess,  Tantivy,  Tallyho, 
Reform,  White  Rose,  Bellerophon,  the  Jilt, 


116  THE    BROOK. 

Arbaces,  and  Phenomenon,  and  the  rest, 
Till,  not  to  die  a  listener,  I  arose, 
And  with  me  Philip,  talking  still ;  and  so 
We  turn'd  our  foreheads  from  the  falling  sun, 
And  following  our  own  shadows  thrice  as  long 
As  when  they  follow'd  us  from  Philip's  door, 
Arrived,  and  found  the  sun  of  sweet  content 
Re-risen  in  Katie's  eyes,  and  all  things  well. 

I  steal  by  lawns  and  grassy  plots, 

I  slide  by  hazel  covers ; 
I  move  the  sweet  forget-me-nota 

That  grow  for  happy  lovers. 

I  slip,  I  slide,  I  gloom,  I  glance, 
Among  my  skimming  swallows  ; 

I  make  the  netted  sunbeam  dance 
Against  my  sandy  shallows. 

I  murmur  under  moon  and  stars 

In  brambly  wildernesses ; 
I  linger  by  my  shingly  bars ; 

I  loiter  round  my  cresses ; 


THE    BROOK.  117 

And  out  again  I  curve  and  flow 

To  join  the  brimming  river, 
For  men  may  come  and  men  may  go, 

But  I  go  on  for  ever. 

Yes,  men  may  come  and  go ;  and  these  are  gone, 

All  gone.     My  dearest  brother,  Edmund,  sleeps, 

Not  by  the  well-known  stream  and  rustic  spire, 

But  unfamiliar  Arno,  and  the  dome 

Of  Brunelleschi;  sleeps  in  peace  :  and  he, 

Poor  Philip,  of  all  his  lavish  waste  of  words 

Remains  the  lean  P.  W.  on  his  tomb : 

I  scraped  the  lichen  from  it :  Katie  walks 

By  the  long  wash  of  Australasian  seas 

Far  off,  and  holds  her  head  to  other  stars, 

And  breathes  in  converse  seasons.     All  are  gone.' 

So  Lawrence  Aylmer,  seated  on  a  stile 
In  the  long  hedge,  and  rolling  in  his  mind 
Old  waifs  of  rhyme,  and  bowing  o'er  the  brook 
A  tonsured  head  in  middle  age  forlorn, 


118  THE    BROOK. 

Mused,  and  was  mute.     On  a  sudden  a  low  breath 

Of  tender  air  made  tremble  in  the  hedge 

The  fragile  bindweed-bells  and  briony  rings ; 

And  he  look'd  up.     There  stood  a  maiden  near, 

Waiting  to  pass.     In  much  amaze  he  stared 

On  eyes  a  bashful  azure,  and  on  hair 

In  gloss  and  hue  the  chestnut,  when  the  shell 

Divides  three-fold  to  show  the  fruit  within  : 

Then,  wondering,    ask'd    her   4  Are   you   from    the 

farm  ? '  — 
'  Yes  '  answer'd  she.  —  '  Pray  stay  a  little  :   pardon 

me; 
What  do  they  call  you  ?  '  — '  Katie.'  —  '  That  were 

strange. 
What  surname  ? '  — '  Willows.'  — '  No  ! '  — '  That  is 

my  name.'  — 

'  Indeed  ! '  and  here  he  look'd  so  self-perplext, 
That  Katie  laugh'd,  and  laughing  blush'd,  till  he 
Laugh'd  also,  but  as  one  before  he  wakes, 
Who  feels  a  glimmering  strangeness  in  his  dream. 


THE    BROOK.  119 

Then  looking  at  her ;  '  Too  happy,  fresh  and  fair, 
Too  fresh  and  fair  in  our  sad  world's  best  bloom, 
To  be  the  ghost  of  one  who  bore  your  name 
About  these  meadows,  twenty  years  ago.' 

1  Have  you  not  heard  ? '   said  Katie,  '  we  came 

back. 

We  bought  the  farm  we  tenanted  before. 
Am  I  so  like  her  ?  so  they  said  on  board. 
Sir,  if  you  knew  her  in  her  English  days, 
My  mother,  as  it  seems  you  did,  the  days 
That  most  she  loves  to  talk  of,  come  with  me. 
My  brother  James  is  in  the  harvest-field : 
But  she  —  you  will  be  welcome  —  O,  come  in  ! ' 


THE    LETTERS. 


i. 

STILL  on  the  tower  stood  the  vane, 

A  black  yew  gloora'd  the  stagnant  air, 
I  peer'd  athwart  the  chancel  pane 

And  saw  the  altar  cold  and  bare. 
A  clog  of  lead  was  round  my  feet, 

A  band  of  pain  across  my  brow ; 
'  Cold  altar,  Heaven  and  earth  shall  meet 

Before  you  hear  my  marriage  vow.' 
121 


122  THE    LETTERS. 

2. 

I  turn'd  and  hummel  a  bitter  song 

That  mock'd  the  wholesome  human  heart, 
And  then  we  met  in  wrath  and  wrong, 

We  met,  but  only  meant  to  part. 
Full  cold  my  greeting  was  and  dry ; 

She  faintly  smiled,  she  hardly  moved ; 
I  saw  with  half-unconscious  eye 

She  wore  the  colors  I  approved. 

3. 
She  took  the  little  ivory  chest, 

With  half  a  sigh  she  turn'd  the  key, 
Then  raised  her  head  with  lips  comprest, 

And  gave  my  letters  back  to  me. 
And  gave  the  trinkets  and  the  rings, 

My  gifts,  when  gifts  of  mine  could  please 
As  looks  a  father  on  the  things 

Of  his  dead  son,  I  look'd  on  these. 


THE    LETTERS.  123 

4. 

She  told  me  all  her  friends  had  said ; 

I  raged  against  the  public  liar ; 
She  talk'd  as  if  her  love  were  dead, 

But  in  my  words  were  seeds  of  fire. 
'  No  more  of  love ;  your  sex  is  known : 

I  never  will  be  twice  deceived. 
Henceforth  I  trust  the  man  alone, 

The  woman  cannot  be  believed. 

6. 
'  Thro'  slander,  meanest  spawn  of  Hell 

(And  women's  slander  is  the  worst), 
And  you,  whom  once  I  loved  so  well, 

Thro'  you,  my  life  will  be  accurst.' 
I  spoke  with  heart,  and  heat  and  force, 

I  shook  her  breast  with  vague  alarms  — 
Like  torrents  from  a  mountain  source 

We  rush'd  into  each  other's  arms. 


124  THE    LETTERS. 

6. 

We  parted  :  sweetly  gleam'd  the  stars, 

And  sweet  the  vapor-braided  blue, 
Low  breezes  fann'd  the  belfry  bars, 

As  homeward  by  the  church  I  drew. 
The  very  graves  appear'd  to  smile, 

So  fresh  they  rose  in  shadow'd  swells  ; 
'  Dark  porch,'  I  said,  '  and  silent  aisle, 

There  comes  a  sound  of  marriage  bells.1 


ODE   ON    THE    DEATH 


THE   DUKE   OF  WELLINGTON 


125 


ODE  ON  THE  DEATH 


THE   DUKE   OF   WELLINGTON. 


i. 

BURY  the  Great  Duke 

With  an  empire's  lamentation, 
Let  us  bury  the  Great  Duke 

To  the  noise  of  the  mourning  of  a  mighty  nation, 
Mourning  when  their  leaders  fall, 
Warriors  carry  the  warrior's  pall, 
And  sorrow  darkens  hamlet  and  hall. 
127 


123  ODE    OX    THE    DEATH    OF 

2. 

Where  shall  we  lay  the  man  whom  we  deplore  ? 
Here,  in  streaming  London's  central  roar. 
Let  the  sound  of  those  he  wrought  for, 
And  the  feet  of  those  he  fought  for, 
Echo  round  his  bones  for  evermore. 

S. 

Lead  out  the  pageant :  sad  and  slow, 
As  fits  an  universal  woe, 
Let  the  long,  long  procession  go, 
And  let  the  sorrowing  crowd  about  it  grow, 
And  let  the  mournful  martial  music  blow ; 
The  last  great  Englishman  is  low. 

4. 

Mourn,  for  to  us  he  seems  the  last, 
Remembering  all  his  greatness  in  the  Past. 


THE    DUKE    OF    WELLINGTON.  129 

No  more  in  soldier  fashion  will  he  greet 
With  lifted  hand  the  gazer  in  the  street. 
0  friends,  our  chief  state-oracle  is  mute  : 
Mourn  for  the  man  of  long-enduring  blood, 
The  statesman-warrior,  moderate,  resolute, 
Whole  in  himself,  a  common  good. 
Mourn  for  the  man  of  amplest  influence, 
Yet  clearest  of  ambitious  crime, 
Our  greatest  jret  with  least  pretence, 
Great  in  council  and  great  in  war, 
Foremost  captain  of  his  time, 
Richjn_saving  common-sense, 
And,  as  the  greatest  only  are, 
In  his  simplicity  sublime. 
O  good  gray  head  which  all  men  knew, 
0  voice  from  which  their  omens  all  men  drew, 
O  iron  nerve  to  true  occasion  true, 
O  fall'n  at  length  that  tower  of  strength 
Which    stood  four-square   to   all    the   winds    that 
blew! 


130  ODE    ON    THE    DEATH    OF 

Such  was  he  whom  we  deplore. 
The  long  self-sacrifice  of  life  is  o'er. 
The   great  World-victor's  victor   will   be    seen    no 
more. 

6. 

All  is  over  and  done  : 
Render  thanks  to  the  Giver, 
England,  for  thy  son. 
Let  the  bell  be  tolPd. 
Render  thanks  to  the  Giver, 
And  render  him  to  the  mould. 
Under  the  cross  of  gold 
That  shines  over  city  and  river, 
There  he  shall  rest  for  ever 
Among  the  wise  and  the  bold. 
Let  the  bell  be  toll'd  : 
And  a  reverent  people  behold 
The  towering  car,  the  sable  steeds  : 
Bright  let  it  be  with  his  blazon'd  deeds, 


THE    DUKE    OF    WELLINGTON.  K 

Dark  in  its  funeral  fold. 

Let  the  bell  be^toll'd  : 

And  a  deeper  knell  in  the  heart  be  knoll'd  ; 

And  the  sound  of  the  sorrowing  anthem  roll'd 

Thro'  the  dome  of  the  golden  cross  ; 

And  the  volleying  cannon  thunder  his  loss  ; 

He  knew  their  voices  of  old. 

For  many  a  time  in  many  a  clime 

His  captain's-ear  has  heard  them  boom 

Bellowing  victory,  bellowing  doom  ; 

When  he  with  those  deep  voices  wrought, 

Guarding  realms  and  kings  from  shame  ; 

With  those  deep  voices  our  dead  captain  taught 

The  tyrant,  and  asserts  his  claim 

In  that  dread  sound  to  the  great  name, 

Which  he  has  worn  so  pure  of  blame, 

In  praise  and  in  dispraise  the  same, 

A  man  of  well-attemper'd  frame. 

O  civic  muse,  to  such  a  name, 

To  such  a  name  for  ages  long, 


132  ODE    OX    THE    DEATH    OF 

To  such  a  name, 

Preserve  a  broad  approach  of  fame, 

And  ever-ringing  avenues  of  song. 


6. 

Who  is  he  that  cometh  like  an  honor'd  guest, 
With  banner  and  with  music,  with  soldier  and  with 

priest, 

With  a  nation  weeping,  and  breaking  on  my  rest  ? 
Mighty  seaman,  this  is  he 
Was  great  by  land  as  thou  by  sea. 
Thine  island  loves  thee  well,  thou  famous  man, 
The  greatest  sailor  since  our  world  began. 
Now,  to  the  roll  of  muffled  drums, 
To  thee  the  greatest  soldier  comes ; 
For  this  is  he 

Was  great  by  land  as  thou  by  sea ; 
His  foes  were  thine  ;  he  kept  us  free  ; 
O  give  him  welcome,  this  is  he, 


THE    DUKE    OF    WELLINGTON.  133 

Worthy  of  our  gorgeous  rites, 
And  worthy  to  be  laid  by  thee  ; 
For  this  is  England's  greatest  son, 
He  that  gain'd  a  hundred  rights, 
Nor  ever  lost  an  English  gun  ; 
This  is  he  that  far  away 
Against  the  myriads  of  Assaye 
Clash'd  with  his  fiery  few  and  won; 
And  underneath  another  sun, 
Warring  on  a  later  day, 
Round  affrighted  Lisbon  drew 
The  treble  works,  the  vast  designs 
Of  his  labor'd  rampart-lines, 
Where  he  greatly  stood  at  bay, 
Whence  he  issued  forth  anew, 
And  ever  great  and  greater  grew. 
Beating  from  the  wasted  vines 
Back  to  France  her  banded  swarms, 
Back  to  France  with  cour>tless  blows, 
Till  o'er  the  hills  hex  eagles  flew 


134  ODE    ON    THE    DEATH    OF 

Past  the  Pyrenean  pines, 

Follow'd  up  in  valley  and  glen 

With  blare  of  bugle,  clamor  of  men, 

Roll  of  cannon  and  clash  of  arms, 

And  England  pouring  on  her  foes. 

Such  a  war  had  such  a  close. 

Again  their  ravening  eagle  rose 

In  anger,  wheel'd  on  Europe-shadowing  wings 

And  barking  for  the  thrones  of  kings  ; 

Till  one  that  sought  but  Duty's  iron  crown 

On  that  loud  sabbath  shook  the  spoiler  down  ; 

A  day  of  onsets  of  despair ! 

Dash'd  on  every  rocky  square 

Their  surging  charges  foam'd  themselves  away; 

Last,  the  Prussian  trumpet  blew ; 

Through  the  long-tormented  air 

Heaven  flash 'd  a  sudden  jubilant  ray, 

And  down  we  swept  and  charged  and  overthrew. 

So  great  a  soldier  taught  us  there, 

What  long-enduring  hearts  could  do 


THE    DUKE    OF    WELLINGTON.  135' 

In  that  world's  earthquake,  Waterloo  ! 

Mighty  seaman,  tender  and  true, 

And  pure  as  he  from  taint  of  craven  guile, 

O  saviour  of  the  silver-coasted  isle, 

O  shaker  of  the  Baltic  and  the  Nile, 

If  aught  of  things  that  here  befall 

Touch  a  spirit  among  things  divine, 

If  love  of  country  move  thee  there  at  all, 

Be  glad,  because  his  bones  are  laid  by  thine  ! 

And  thro'  the  centuries  let  a  people's  voice 

In  full  acclaim, 

A  people's  voice, 

The  proof  and  echo  of  all  human  fame, 

A  people's  voice,  when  they  rejoice 

At  civic  revel  and  pomp  and  game, 

Attest  their  great  commander's  claim 

With  honor,  honor,  honor,  honor  to  him, 

Eternal  honor  to  his  name. 


136  ODE    ON   THE    DEATH   OF 

7. 

A  people's  voice !  we  are  a  people  yet. 
Tho'  all  men  else  their  nobler  dreams  forget 
Confused  by  brainless  mobs  and  lawless  Powers  ; 
Thank  Him  who  isled  us  here,  and  roughly  set 
His  Saxon  in  blown  seas  and  storming  showers, 
We  have  a  voice  with  which  to  pay  the  debt 
Of  boundless  love  and  reverence  and  regret 
To  those  great  men  who  fought,  and  kept  it  ours. 
And  keep  it  ours,  O  God,  from  brute  control ; 
O  Statesmen,  guard  us,  guard  the  eye,  the  soul 
Of  Europe,  keep  our  noble  England  whole, 
And  save  the  one  true  seed  of  freedom  sown 
Betwixt  a  people  and  their  ancient  throne, 
That  sober  freedom  out  of  which  there  springs 
Our  loyal  passion  for  our  temperate  kings ; 
For,  saving  that,  ye  help  to  save  mankind 
Till  public  wrong  be  crumbled  into  dust, 
And  drill  the  raw  world  for  the  march  of  mind, 


THE    DUKE    OF    WELLINGTON. 

Till  crowds  at  length  be  sane  and  crowns  be  ju 

But  wink  no  more  in  slothful  overtrust. 

Remember  him  who  led  your  hosts  ; 

He  bade  you  guard  the  sacred  coasts. 

Your  cannons  moulder  on  the  seaward  wall ; 

His  voice  is  silent  in  your  council-hall 

For  ever ;  and  whatever  tempests  lower 

For  ever  silent;  even  if  they  broke 

In  thunder,  silent ;  yet  remember  all 

He  spoke  among  you,  and  the  Man  who  spoke  ; 

Who  never  sold  the  truth,  to  serve  the  hour, 

Nor  palter'd  with  Eternal  God  forjjower; 

Who  let  the  turbid  streams  of  rumor  flow 

Thro'  either  babbling  world  of  high  and  low  ; 

Whose  life  was  work,  whose  language  rife 

With  rugged  maxims  hewn  from  life ; 

Who  never  spoke  against  a  foe  ; 

Whose  eighty  winters  freeze  with  one  rebuke 

All  great  self-seekers  trampling  on  the  right : 

Truth-teller  was  our  England's  Alfred  named  ; 


ODE    ON    THE    DEATH    OF 


Truth-lover  was  our  English  Duke  ; 
Whatever  record  leap  to  light 
He  never  shall  be  shamed. 


8. 

Lo,  the  leader  in  these  glorious  wars 
Now  to  glorious  burial  slowly  borne, 
Follow'd  by  the  brave  of  other  lands, 
He,  on  whom  from  both  her  open  hands 
Lavish  Honor  shower'd  all  her  stars, 
And  affluent  Fortune  emptied  all  her  horn. 
Yea,  let  all  good  things  await 
Him  who  cares  not  to  be  great, 
But  as  he  saves  or  serves  the  state. 
Not  once  or  twice  in  our  rough  island-story, 
The  path  of  duty  was  the  way  to  glory  : 
He  that  walks  it,  only  thirsting 
For  the  right,  and  learns  to  deaden    • 
Love  of  self,  before  his  journey  closes, 


THE    DUKE    OF    WELLINGTON.  139 

He  shall  find  the  stubborn  thistle  bursting 

Into  glossy  purples,  which  outredden 

All  voluptuous  garden-roses. 

Not  once  or  twice  in  our  fair  island  story, 

The  path  of  duty  was  the  way  to  glory  : 

He,  that  ever  following  her  commands, 

On  with  toil  of  heart  and  knees  and  hands, 

Thro'  the  long  gorge  to  the  far  light  has  won 

His  path  upward,  and  prevail'd, 

Shall  find  the  toppling  crags  of  Duty  scaled 

Are  close  upon  the  shining  table-lands 

To  which  our  God  Himself  is  moon  and  sun. 

Such  was  he  :  his  work  is  done  : 

But  while  the  races  of  mankind  endure, 

Let  his  great  example  stand 

Colossal,  seen  of  every  land, 

And  keep  the  soldier  firm,  the  statesman  pure  ; 

Till  in  all  lands  and  thro'  all  human  story 

The  path  of  duty  be  the  way  to  glory : 

And  let  the  land  whose  hearths  he  saved  from  shame 


140  ODE    ON    THE    DEATH   OF 

For  many  and  many  an  age  proclaim 
At  civic  revel  and  pomp  and  game, 
And  when  the  long-illumined  cities  flame, 
Their  ever-loyal  iron  leader's  fame, 
With  honor,  honor,  honor,  honor  to  him, 
Eternal  honor  to  his  name. 


Peace,  his  triumph  will  be  sung 

By  some  yet  unrnoulded  tongue 

Far  on  in  summers  that  we  shall  not  see  : 

Peace,  it  is  a  day  of  pain 

For  one  about  whose  patriarchal  knee 

Late  the  little  children  clung : 

O  peace,  it  is  a  day  of  pain 

For  one,  upon  whose  hand  and  heart  and  brain 

Once  the  weight  and  fate  of  Europe  hung. 

Ours  the  pain,  be  his  the  gain ! 

More  than  is  of  man's  degree 


THE    DUKE    OF    WELLINGTON.  141 

Must  be  with  us,  watching  here 

At  this,  our  great  solemnity. 

Whom  we  see  not  we  revere. 

We  revere,  and  we  refrain 

From  talk  of  battles  loud  and  vain, 

And  brawling  memories  all  too  free 

For  such  a  wise  humility 

As  befits  a  solemn  fane  : 

We  revere,  and  while  we  hear 

The  tides  of  Music's  golden  sea 

Setting  toward  eternity, 

Uplifted  high  in  heart  and  hope  are  we, 

Until  we  doubt  not  that  for  one  so  true 

There  must  be  other  nobler  work  to  do 

Than  when  he  fought  at  Waterloo, 

And  Victor  he  must  ever  be. 

For  tho'  the  Giant  Ages  heave  the  hill 

And  break  the  shore,  and  evermore 

Make  and  break,  and  work  their  will ; 

Tho'  worlds  on  worlds  in  myriad  myriads  roll 


142      ODE  ON  THE  DUKE  OF  WELLINGTON. 

Round  us,  each  with  different  powers, 

And  other  forms  of  life  than  ours, 

What  know  we  greater  than  the  soul  ? 

On  God  and  Godlike  men  we  build  our  trust. 

Hush,  the  Dead  March  wails  in  'the  people's  ears  : 

The  dark  crowd  moves,  and  there  are  sobs  and  tears 

The  black  earth  yawns  :  the  mortal  disappears  ; 

Ashes  to  ashes,  dust  to  dust ; 

He  is  gone  who  seem'd  so  great.  — 

Gone  ;  but  nothing  can  bereave  him 

Of  the  force  he  made  his  own 

Being  here,  and  we  believe  him 

Something  far  advanced  in  State, 

And  that  he  wears  a  truer  crown 

Than  any  wreath  that  man  can  weave  him. 

But  speak  no  more  of  his  renown, 

Lay  your  earthly  fancies  down, 

And  in  the  vast  cathedral  leave  him. 

God  accept  him,  Christ  receive  him. 

1852. 


THE    DAISY. 

WRITTEN  AT  EDINBURGH. 

0  LOVE,  what  hours  were  thine  and  mine, 
In  lands  of  palm  and  southern  pine  ; 

In  lands  of  palm ,  of  orange-blossom, 
Of  olive,  aloe,  and  maize  and  vine. 

What  Roman  strength  Turbia  show'd 
In  ruin,  by  the  mountain  road  ; 

How  like  a  gem,  beneath  the  city 
Of  little  Monaco,  basking,  glow'd. 
143 


1-14  THE    DAISY. 

How  richly  down  the  rocky  dell 
The  torrent  vineyard  streaming  fell 

To  meet  the  sun  and  sunny  waters, 
That  only  heaved  with  a  summer  swell. 

What  slender  campanili  grew 

By  bays,  the  peacock's  neck  in  hue  ; 

Where,  here  and  there,  on  sandy  beaches 
A  milky-bell'd  amaryllis  blew. 

How  young  Columbus  seem'd  to  rove, 
Yet  present  in  his  natal  grove, 

Now  watching  high  on  mountain  cornice, 
And  steering,  now,  from  a  purple  cove, 

Now  pacing  mute  by  ocean's  rim  ; 
Till,  in  a  narrow  street  and  dim, 

I  stay'd  the  wheels  at  Cogoletto, 
And  drank,  and  loyally  drank  to  him. 


THE    DAISY.  145 

Nor  knew  we  well  what  pleased  us  most, 
Not  the  dipt  palm  of  which  they  boast ; 

But  distant  color,  happy  hamlet, 
A  moulder'd  citadel  on  the  coast, 

Or  tower,  or  high  hill-convent,  seen 
A  light  amid  its  olives  green  ; 

Or  olive-hoary  cape  in  ocean  ; 
Or  rosy  blossom  in  hot  ravine, 

Where  oleanders  flush'd  the  bed 
Of  silent  torrents,  gravel-spread  ; 

And,  crossing,  oft  we  saw  the  glisten 
Of  ice,  far  off  on  a  mountain  head. 

We  loved  that  hall,  tho'  white  and  cold, 
Those  niched  shapes  of  noble  mould, 
A  princely  people's  awful  princes, 
The  grave,  severe  Genovese  of  old. 
10 


146  THE    DAISY. 

At  Florence  too  what  golden  hours, 
In  those  long  galleries,  were  ours  ; 

What  drives  about  the  fresh  Cascine, 
Or  walks  in  Boboli's  ducal  bowers. 

In  bright  vignettes,  and  each  complete, 
Of  tower  or  duomo,  sunny-sweet, 

Or  palace,  how  the  city  glitter'd, 
Thro'  cypress  avenues,  at  our  feet. 

But  when  we  crost  the  Lombard  plain 
Remember  what  a  plague  of  rain  ; 

Of  rain  at  Reggio,  a't  Parma  ; 
At  Lodi,  rain,  Piacenza,  rain. 

And  stern  and  sad  (so  rare  the  smiles 
Of  sunlight)  look'd  the  Lombard  piles ; 

Porch-pillars  on  the  lion  resting, 
And. sombre,  old,  colonnaded  aisles. 


THE    DAISY.  147 

0  Milan,  0  the  chanting  quires, 
The  giant  windows'  blazon'd  fires, 

The  height,  the  space,  the  gloom,  the  glory ! 
A  mount  of  marble,  a  hundred  spires  ! 

1  climb'd  the  roofs  at  break  of  day  ; 
Sun-smitten  Alps  before  me  lay. 

I  stood  among  the  silent  statues, 
And  statued  pinnacles,  mute  as  they. 

How  faintly-flush'd,  how  phantom-fair, 
Was  Monte  Rosa,  hanging  there 

A  thousand  shadowy-pencill'd  valleys 
And  snowy  dells  in  a  golden  air. 

Remember  how  we  came  at  last 
To  Como  ;  shower  and  storm  and  blast 
Had  blown  the  lake  beyond  his  limit, 
And  all  was  flooded  ;  and  how  we  past 


148  THE    DAISY. 

From  Como,  when  the  light  was  gray, 
And  in  my  head,  for  half  the  day, 

The  rich  Virgilian  rustic  measure 
Of  Lari  Maxume,  all  the  way, 

Like  ballad-burthen  music,  kept, 
As  on  The  Lariano  crept 

To  that  fair  port  below  the  castle 
Of  Queen  Theodolind,  where  we  slept ; 

Or  hardly  slept,  but  watch'd  awake 
A  cypress  in  the  moonlight  shake, 

The  moonlight  touching  o'er  a  terrace 
One  tall  Agave  above  the  lake. 

What  more  ?  we  took  our  last  adieu, 
And  up  the  snowy  Splugen  drew, 

But  ere  we  reach'd  the  highest  summit 
I  pluck'd  a  daisy,  I  gave  it  you. 


THE    DAISY.  149 

It  told  of  England  then  to  me, 
And  now  it  tells  of  Italy. 

O  love,  we  two  shall  go  no  longer 
To  lands  of  summer  beyond  the  sea  ; 

So  dear  a  life  your  arms  enfold 
Whose  crying  is  a  cry  for  gold  : 

Yet  here  to-night  in  this  dark  city, 
When  ill  and  weary,  alone  and  cold, 

I  found,  tho1  crush'd  to  hard  and  dry, 
This  nursling  of  another  sky 

Still  in  the  little  book  you  lent  me, 
And  where  you  tenderly  laid  it  by  : 

And  I  forgot  the  clouded  Forth, 

The  gloom  that  saddens  Heaven  and  Earth, 

The  bitter  east,  the  misty  summer 
And  gray  metropolis  of  the  North. 


150  THE    DAISY. 

Perchance,  to  lull  the  throbs  of  pain, 
Perchance,  to  charm  a  vacant  brain, 

Perchance,  to  dream  you  still  beside  me, 
My  fancy  fled  to  the  South  again. 


TO   THE   REV.  F.  D.  MAURICE. 


COME,  when  no  graver  cares  employ, 
Godfather,  come  and  see  your  boy : 

Your  presence  will  be  sun  in  winter, 
Making  the  little  one  leap  for  joy. 

For,  being  of  that  honest  few, 

Who  give  the  Fiend  himself  his  due, 

Should  eighty-thousand  college-councils 
Thunder  '  Anathema,'  friend,  at  you ; 
151 


152  TO    THE    REV.  F.  D.  MAUK1CE. 

Should  all  our  churchmen  foam  in  spite 
At  you,  so  careful  of  the  right, 

Yet  one  lay-hearth  would  give  you  wekvme 
(Take  it  and  come)  to  the  Isle  of  Wight ; 

Where,  far  from  noise  and  smoke  of  town, 
I  watch  the  twilight  falling  brown 

All  round  a  careless-order'd  garden 
Close  fo  the  ridge  of  a  noble  down. 

You  '11  have  no  scandal  while  you  dine, 
But  honest  talk  and  wholesome  wine, 

And  only  hear  the  magpie  gossip 
Garrulous  under  a  roof  of  pine  : 

For  groves  of  pine  on  either  hand, 
To  break  the  blast  of  winter,  stand ; 

And  further  on,  the  hoary  Channel 
Tumbles  a  breaker  on  chalk  and  sand ; 


TO    THE    REV.  F.  D.  MAURICE. 

Where,  if  below  the  milky  steep 
Some  ship  of  battle  slowly  creep, 

And  on  thro'  zones  of  light  and  shadow 
Glimmer  away  to  the  lonely  deep, 

We  might  discuss  the  Northern  sin 
Which  made  a  selfish  war  begin ; 

Dispute  the  claims,  arrange  the  chances 
Emperor,  Ottoman,  which  shall  win  : 

Or  whether  war's  avenging  rod 
Shall  lash  all  Europe  into  blood ; 

Till  you  should  turn  to  dearer  matter!?, 
Dear  to  the  man  that  is  dear  to  God ; 

How  best  to  help  the  slender  store, 
How  mend  the  dwellings,  of  the  poor ; 

How  gain  in  life,  as  life  advances, 
Valor  and  charity  more  and  more. 


154  TO    THE    REV.  F.  D.  MAURICE. 

Come,  Maurice,  come :  the  lawn  as  yet 
Is  hoar  with  rime,  or  spongy-wet ; 

But  when  the  wreath  of  March  has  blossom'd, 
Crocus,  anemone,  violet, 

Or  later,  pay  one  visit  here, 

For  those  are  few  we  hold  as  dear ; 

Nor  pay  but  one,  but  come  for  many, 
Many  and  many  a  happy  year. 

January,  1854. 


WILL. 


i. 

0  WELL  for  him  whose  will  is  strong! 

He  suffers,  but  he  will  not  suffer  long ; 

He  suffers,  but  he  cannot  suffer  wrong : 

For  him  nor  moves  the  loud  world's  random  mock, 

Nor  all  Calamity's  hugest  waves  confound, 

Who  seems  a  promontory  of  rock, 

That,  compass'd  round  with  turbulent  sound, 

la  middle  ocean  meets  the  surging  shock, 

Tempest-buffeted,  citadel-crown'd. 

2. 

But  ill  for  him  who,  bettering  not  with  time, 
Corrupts  the  strength  of  heaven-descended  Will, 
155 


156 


And  ever  weaker  grows  thro'  acted  crime, 

Or  seeming-genial  venial  fault, 

Recurring  and  suggesting  still ! 

He  seems  as  one  whose  footsteps  halt, 

Toiling  in  immeasurable  sand, 

And  o'er  a  weary  sultry  land, 

Far  beneath  a  blazing  vault, 

Sown  in  a  wrinkle  of  the  monstrous  hill, 

The  city  sparkles  like  a  grain  of  salt. 


CHARGE   OF  THE  LIGHT  BRIGADE. 

1. 

HALF  a  league,  half  a  league, 

Half  a  league  onward, 
All  in  the  valley  of  Death 

Rode  the  six  hundred. 
"  Charge,"  was  the  captain's  cry ; 
Theirs  not  to  reason  why, 
Theirs  not  to  make  reply, 
Theirs  but  to  do  and  die, 
Into  the  valley  of  Death 
Rode  the  six  hundred. 
157 


158  THE    CHARGE    OF    THE    LIGHT    BRIGADE. 


Cannon  to  right  of  them, 
Cannon  to  left  of  them, 
Cannon  in  front  of  them 

Volley'd  and  thunder'd ; 
Storm'd  at  with  shot  and  shell, 
Boldly  they  rode  and  well ; 
Into  the  jaws  of  Death, 
Into  the  mouth  of  Hell, 

Rode  the  six  hundred. 


3. 

Flash'd  all  their  sabres  bare, 
Flash'd  all  at  once  in  air, 
Sabring  the  gunners  there, 
Charging  an  army,  while 

All  the  world  wonder'd  : 
Plunged  in  the  battery  smoke, 


THE    CHARGE    OF    THE    LIGHT    BRIGADE.  159 

Fiercely  the  line  they  broke ; 
Strong  was  the  sabre-stroke  : 
Making  an  army  reel 

Shaken  and  sunder'd. 
Then  they  rode  back,  but  not, 

Not  the  six  hundred. 


4. 

Cannon  to  right  of  them, 
Cannon  to  left  of  them, 
Cannon  behind  them 

Volley'd  and  thunder'd ; 
Storm'd  at  with  shot  and  shell, 
They  that  had  struck  so  well 
Rode  thro'  the  jaws  of  Death, 
Half  a  league  back  again, 
Up  from  the  mouth  of  Hell, 
All  that  was  left  of  them, 

Left  of  six  hundred. 


160  THE    CHARGE    OF    THE    LIGHT    BRIGADE. 

5. 

Honor  the  brave  and  bold  ! 
Long  shall  the  tale  be  told, 
Yea,  when  our  babes  are  old  — 
How  they  rode  onward. 


BOSTOX,  135  WASHINGTON  STKBKT, 
SEPTEMBER,  1855. 

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